To Antiva and Back
by MiiYuKira
Summary: Part three of Perspective. We go to Antiva! Where there are... Antivans. And Crows. And a demon. And templars. And Grey Wardens. One last holiday before we get back to Ferelden again. Adventure and violence.
1. Prologue

A/N: This is just a tease, while I get my life in order. School stinks. Period. Yay Antiva!

This continues from Seheron, hope you like it! Yay Zevran!

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><p><strong>To Antiva and Back<strong>

Prologue: The beginning of some fun

I woke up to darkness, sitting up in the bed with the curtains fluttering in the wind—the windows were wide open—a small sliver of moonlight shone upon the creaky wooden floor. I could have sworn—I remembered a slight figure in a dark platemail, dodging in front of the small army of men who had me surrounded—and there was such a bright light and then— nothing.

Getting up to close the shutters from the freezing gusts, I stepped towards the window, wincing a little as the floorboards creaked—piercing at this time of night. It was then that I heard a cough and a sneeze, before something or someone swung in through the window, and here I was, completely naked, and the strangest thing was—I couldn't locate my daggers.

The figure pulled the shutters tight, and the winds stopped—though the sounds still blasted around outside. It shivered a little and stamped its feet, muttering, "Whew—it's cold outside."

That silvery voice. It was her—my _bella_? My suspicions were confirmed when she conjured a handful of fire, illuminating the room. And me. Her eyes widened and she let out a yelp, before extinguishing the blue flames hastily, rummaging in the dark and handing me some cloths.

So she was here—and that dream was… not really a dream.

"You _took off_ my clothes, my _bella_. Did you _really_ think I'd put on any clothes after that?" I liked her being here. This going to be fun.

"I… I'm sorry, I forgot." I heard the chair creak as she sat—far away from me.

I let disappointment creep into my voice as I put the pants on. In truth, I felt none of that. "You forgot? You always know the words to _wound_ me, my _bella_."

"Huh? I…"

I could not resist chuckling at her hesitance. "I was jesting."

"Ah. Do you—have the— pants on—Zevran?"

Her embarrassment was so adorable. "Yes I have." She lit a candle that stood on the bedside table in the room. Wherever we were, it was a very well-furnished inn.

"So how was your time in Seheron? Your hair is certainly a lot fairer than it was…" This was true. Her eyes seemed different too, but it might have been the light of the single candle. It was, quite romantic.

"It was… all right."

"Did you have fun tempting the _qunari_ silly with your devilish goddess-like ways?"

She remained silent. Her violet-flecked eyes were glazed, Kiera seemed miles away. I did not really like being ignored—but whatever it was, something was bothering her.

"Normally you'd respond to that. Did Seheron not go well for you, my bella? You're brooding."

"It's something… I'd rather not talk about."

"Is it, by any chance, Sten-related? The _qunari_ did have a thing for you, as I recall."

Kiera stared at me, shock written on her delicate (and quite tanned) features. "What? How?"

"You… _filled_ his empty sheath, remember, restoring his _blade_ with such _finesse_. One cannot witness that and not notice his later attraction towards you and your actions. Did he finally rise to the occasion?"

That only earned a wry smile. "That sounded vaguely dirty."

"Ah my _bella_, I'll always _be_ vaguely dirty."

She hiccoughed, looking away—even as a smile twitched the corners of her lovely lips. I must admit, I missed her impish ways immensely. I hoped that sending her to off to the Seheron with that _qunari_ had not ruined her forever.

Perhaps some conversation would distract her from her problems? I wished to know about the _qunari _lands, but I could see that she was not ready to speak of it, not yet. "So… what happened after that bright light? How did you escape the twenty or so men? They are… quite persistant."

"_Were_. And I don't think they'll be after you, or me, in the near future." She winked. Ah, my _bella_ was such a tease.

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><p>Thanks for reading! Leave me a review if you like it! And if you have any ideas! ^_^<p> 


	2. Chapter 1: There's going to be a party

A/N: Gah. this no writing thing is not working out. Anyway, here it is :D

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: There's going to be a party<br>**

**Zevran**

It was evidently very near morning; one could hear the waking sounds of the city that echoed through the narrow streets. I heard the squawking of the vicious birds, as well as the slosh of the waves— now audible in the wee hours. I opened the shutters—we had to be overlooking the docks, and the glorious sunrise was visible from this side of the city. What a waste if my _bella_ did not see it.

She stuck her head out the window, squinting at something, before stalking away from the sill. "I've placed some trigger traps on the roof of this place, as per my agreement with our landlady. You must have some very annoying seagulls if you need that kind of defence against mere _birds_."

I listened with a smile, but did not reveal the truth to my _bella_. She did not need to know that whoever rented us this room was not an innocent bystander in Antivan society. Very likely, it was someone who had crossed the Crows. Those were traps meant for potential assassins.

"So, is that how you got these fantastic quarters?" It was quite top class, all things considered. There was even a small bathtub in the large room. I wondered if my _bella_ would want to— make use of the facilities we had.

"I figured that some gold would get us anything, even if it is grossly overpriced, and the requests are quite peculiar."

"Ah my dear… You _do_ know a way into an Antivan's heart."

The gold no doubt paid for secrecy and the supplies, but her laying of the traps were in return for the provision of shelter. She began packing, and I saw a great many dirty bandages, as well as my bloodstained leathers. These Kiera handed to me, before bustling about the room. Her pack and armor lay neatly in one corner. I wondered if she had rested at all during the long night.

I appeared to have sustained quite a bit of blood loss, serious wounds that have already been healed— with nary a mark left on my skin. I felt only a twinge where pangs of pain should be—as well as a protesting stomach. Daylight would come soon, and breakfast would be available then.

Kiera continued busying herself, and I watched her. She was dressed only in threadbare linen, and that stretched as she bent over her things, illuminated by the light of the candle— I got a _fantastic_ view of what lay beneath.

I must admit that I barely paid attention to her words. There were, after all, more _distracting_ things to attend to.

"We've only got the one night here though."

The words just slipped out as I watched her alluring form. "And one night is all I need, my _bella_."

There was a long moment as she turned and peered at me, trying to decide if she should be scandalized. I wondered if she'd be outraged at the indecent things I had in my head. I rather think not.

"Keep trying, Zev." Came her girlish giggle.

Considering that she had to have seen _all_ of me when she healed my supposed wounds, as well as that incident near the window, she had the upper hand. Now all I needed to do was to even this score with her.

"And I shall take that as a _personal_ challenge." I murmured. Oh the things I could imagine.

xOxOx

**Kiera**

Zev seemed surprised when we trooped downstairs in the morning, meeting the nice lady who had rented us the room and made us a hot meal. She had offered both lodging and breakfast, in addition to an endless supply of hot water and bandages. Her presence the previous afternoon made it tough for me to heal Zev with magic— I had no wish to give her more call to raise the already outrageous amounts she charged.

The three sovereigns were very plenty for an attic room with no fireplace. I didn't feel at ease around her; she had the most… unsettling twinkle in her eyes.

"_Buongiorno_! Ah. We're awake then?" Came her purr of a voice as the lady bustled about the room, her skirts swishing majestically as she gracefully set down plates of food. Antivan women seemed to be very feminine—I found myself thinking. It had been a while since I was last in a dress.

The streets had cleared mysteriously the moment the fight had begun—right next to the docks as I alighted from the Par Vollen ship, and when I saw that there were more than ten men versus a lone elf—somehow, I knew that it was Zevran. With my helm on and my emerging from the sudden flash of light, I must have proved to be quite a sight—they seemed very unwilling to give chase when with a dramatic wave of my arms, lightning seemed to rain down all around us.

_She_ had found me right as we turned the corner, out of sight, taking us in, all bloody and wounded, with the (somewhat reluctant) Crows on our heels.

Her name was Emiliana, and she had seemed most fascinated with Zevran— having insisted on patching him up herself; I had to remove the expertly done bandages when she finally retired for bed. Thankfully, most of the injuries were mere flesh wounds.

A large and delicious spread was laid out in front of us; there was bread, cakes, honeyed biscuits, and a fantastic coffee that was both rich and sweet. Breakfast must be a very important meal in Antiva. Such a lot of lovely desserts!

xOxOx

**Zevran**

For all the people who would open their houses for a handsome elf and a most ravishing beauty who had the Crows on their tail (of which there were probably less than ten in the whole of the city), I truly did not expect Emiliana. She had been a most useful source of information back in the day. Back when I was still part of the Crows.

She appeared to want to speak with me alone, while my beautiful escort was still enjoying the local delicacies. My _bella_'s favourite appeared to be the honeyed cookies—which gave off the smell of lemons, munching while she eyed us silently. I excused myself and went into the kitchen with Emiliana—with a cup of that heavenly beverage in hand, of course. Ah, the smell of Antivan coffee.

The moment we were alone, the _civetta_ had leaned in close, her bosom pressing up against me while her hand… wandered elsewhere.

"So, Zevran. Just who is that _charming_ young girl sitting in my living room?"

"My dove—are you perhaps—jealous?" I cooed in reply. Emiliana and I had a history together, but that was mostly of the physical sort. Very much like where she had had her hand now.

"Ha—as if she can compare to me—"she huffed, turning away. Envy—then, was the delicate boundary that I would have to tread, lest we anger our—gracious host.

She had swept out into the living room again; the colourful skirts she loved so much hid nothing of her voluptuous figure. She took a seat directly opposite my _bella_, and I had no choice but to remain caught between the two lovely women.

"Come Zevran," Emiliana began. "Tell me all about your latest _adventures_ with the Crows." She had her arms draped around my shoulders, most fetchingly, if not for my affections which were directed elsewhere, I might have taken up on that unsubtle offer.

My _bella_ seemed most unconcerned. She nodded slightly as she left the table—heading upstairs to the room. Emiliana kept me where I was, commenting by whispering in my left ear. Was my _bella_ affected by this?

"Look at the way she walks—stomping her _piedi_ like a common footsoldier—has she no grace?"

I recalled that Emiliana was quite the _coquette_—every single one of her actions and words were calculated to rile up female opposition, as well as male fantasy. It was one of the reasons we met up _sparingly_.

"And you say you're not somewhat… envious?"

She pouted, and upon hearing Kiera's footsteps down the stairs again, she leant closer, falling almost in my lap—her lips meeting mine most definitely in a lock that my Kiera could not _miss_.

xOxOx

**Kiera**

We were leaving the house without fuss, although Zevran took a lot longer before exiting behind me. I wasn't the least bit bothered by the kiss _she_ and him shared. I was bothered by the way she stared at me as they separated—so much hate in those liquid brown eyes— although the look on Zevran's face was somewhat gratifying, he had seemed almost flustered.

"Where are we headed?" I called over my shoulder at him. It was already midday, and going by the way the street just bustled about us with the jostling of people, it was safe to assume that the Crows weren't in the vicinity. I noticed that everyone gave us a wide berth, perhaps on the account of our very pointy weapons. They were all trying very hard not to seem as if they noticed my presence.

"I do have a safehouse for our things. We should unload your things first, yes?" Zevran had finally caught up to me.

"Mmm good idea." I muttered, trying to see everything through the thin slits that were carved into the helmet. Emiliana and Zevran had both insisted that I keep that on—apparently, people did not need to know that I was female. I briefly thanked the Maker that I had thought to blacken the Warden insignia before I left the ship—calling attention to that was not a good way to keep hidden in Antiva City, where the Crows practically ran the place.

Merchandise for the stalls were all kept in cases, watched by the sellers with an eagle eye. The people were all dressed in colourful attire, red, yellow—warm colours—as they browsed over trinkets, desserts, and even clothes, always with a hand on their purses. Pickpockets were apparently rife in this place.

"There is to be a _party_, a week from now," Zevran commented as he saw how fascinated I was— with the streamers that were now being hung up on the lamps that were on the side of every building. Now that I was able to admire the place properly, I noticed that the arches, pillars, rooftops, even _windows_ were wonderfully gilded, finely carved—doorways that were so grand and gleaming, in the light of the sun. Very different from the _qunari_ lands indeed.

"A party?" I echoed—barely registering those words.

His voice was sombre—and I looked at him sharply. That never happened. "Yes. We will have to be ready by then."


	3. Chapter 2: A Bar Fight

**Chapter 2: A Bar Fight**

**Kiera**

The inn in which Zevran had 'stashed' his things was yet another building filled with rather interesting characters— jovial men who did not bat an eyelid when we entered, strange as my attire must be to them. I also noticed that a few of them were sporting weapons. There was a reason why Zevran had chosen this place as his base—and it was largely due to the fact that its keeper apparently did not fear the Crows. He was introduced as Lazarus, a human who did not care that we were hunted— "a stubborn old coot", as he described himself.

I removed my helm as soon as we were out of sight of the main bar. The music in the place was echoing around inside the metal—complicated chords from the lute and apparently its drunken cousin, the raucous singing of the local men. It was very cheerful and warm, a place that promised a good time.

I pretended not to notice as both men swept their eyes to my burning face. In my defense, it was very warm indoors. "The elves have a penchant for hoarding the beauties," Lazarus remarked with a despairing sigh, as he led us down the cellar into a vault-like space.

This was filled with the largest kegs that I have ever seen—filled to the brim with the Antivan brew the locals loved so much. There was a smaller door to the back of this place, and this was what we entered, and it was a room with the barest of furnishings, not to mention the lack of a window.

I was to swap my platemail and large pack for something which will make me… less encumbered. The covert missions in which we were going to engage the Crows would require far less clanking.

"Do you have any of that _fine_ leatherwork here—Lazarus?" Zevran was smirking, the thought of me in a leather breastplate with its skirt ending above my knees no doubt delighting him to no end.

The goateed man only winked at us, before returning shortly with a stack of the requested armor. It was when Lazarus bowed and retreated out of the room that I realized that Zevran seemed quite willing to remain and help me with the numerous buckles.

"You do not need my help in 'strapping it on'—my _bella_?"

I swear—almost every conversation with him contained innuendo of some sort.

"Yes, I'm quite sure."

He gave a chuckle while leaving the room. "Suit yourself. I shall then content myself with my very prolific imagination." To be honest, I was quite daunted by the shape of the thing that had been laid out on the bed—it had been a long time since I wore one of these.

Somehow, I was not surprised that it all fit perfectly, so snug and short it was that I could wear nothing but my underclothes beneath the material. Lazarus had a good eye. It also made me wonder if this was what Leliana had felt every day; there was quite a bit more freedom while moving, but the body below the waist felt so _exposed_.

Thinking back, I realized that Zevran seemed very much attached to his own roguish attire, the colours of his drakeskin armor contrasted starkly against his tan skin—and its length left very little to my own thoughts; those seemed to barely cover _essential_ parts of his lean figure. One could see the muscles under— I caught myself before my thoughts wandered even further. The man was dressed in little else.

I… think I finally understood the allure of leather.

I noticed that my armor had a hood attached, apparently a defense against more roving eyes. Lazarus certainly came through with that addition, although that thoughtful detail was marred by the fact that the armor was already very revealing in itself. There was no hiding the fact that I was female, I supposed. I began to wear my blades on my hips, I wasn't quite used to the way the back sheathes worked—I simply could not slide them in position— at least, not with the fabric of the hood in the way.

**Zevran**

When Kiera finally emerged from the room, she did not disappoint—her skin showed in all the right places, the bareness around her shoulders revealed more of her tan from Seheron. I truly did not expect that she would have gone—native around the _qunari_, but still… one wondered. Perhaps this was why she did not wish to speak of her adventures.

Now if only she would let down that gorgeous sheet of golden hair.

That was easily settled—a few drinks in the _Argento_ _Bevanda_—the alehouse which Lazarus ran, and my _bella_ was ready for a night on the town; she wanted to see the _sights_, her tipsy behavior certainly loosening more than the ponytail. It was all we could do to keep the other men from accosting her when she was like this.

The streets were certainly emptier at night, the air much cooler than the pub's surroundings but my _bella_ seemed to have some trouble walking straight—not that I minded, of course, this meant that she had a hold on my arm the whole time. She had pulled on her hood, giggling faintly, unabashedly close as we sought out other such establishments but I could tell that she was sobering up, little by little. It certainly did not help that we came across a cell of Crows not ten minutes in the next drinking place we chose.

Kiera did not appear to enjoy Antivan brandy, and indeed its acridity was an acquired taste—she seemed to favor the sweeter brews, especially the less potent wine. I think that perhaps one day, I shall get her a bottle of _Moscato d'Asti_— along with some fabulous dessert to sweeten the evening. This idle daydream was interrupted when some hooded figures entered the tavern, their eyes seeking out our presence.

I noticed that the other patrons were allowed to leave, and so did the owner of the establishment. We were to prepare ourselves for yet another fight. I hoped that my _bella _would be up to that task, I counted ten heavily armed assassins.

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><p>P.S.: I know cliffhanger! *giggles* Thanks for reading!<p> 


	4. Chapter 3: Dodging

A/N: Zevran is so adorable! Fight scene, as promised.

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: Dodging<strong>

**Kiera**

I felt Zevran tense up next to me, and I realised that the pub had gone silent. I looked up to find that the taphouse was now emptied of its customers, replaced by short figures that looked vaguely dangerous. Until I noticed the weapons. The pointy bits were dangerous.

Also, the Crows certainly liked hiring elves.

I struggled to clear my head of the wool that the alcohol had gathered; my own thoughts were muffled, as was my hearing. I barely avoided being skewered by a thrown knife, and I found myself diving under the table, drawing my blades with a frustrated grunt. Seems that I wasn't quite used to their new places on my sides.

Zevran really should not have plied me with quite so many glasses—but then, I distinctly remembered that _I_ had ordered the rounds; so perhaps I should not blame him quite so much. There was fighting at hand.

The woman sought me out—and she was deft, lightning quick with her swipes at my stomach. Stepping back, I casted haste on both Zevran and myself—and I saw the assassin's eyes widen slightly. Yes, I was a mage. Tough luck.

My fist collided with her jaw, and grabbing her slight figure swiftly, I slammed her onto a table, breaking it under us. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Zevran had already dispatched three men while I was dealing with their leader.

The woman had fainted as we crashed onto the floor, but I casted a sleep spell on her, just to be sure.

The other assassins came for me, their blades glinting dangerously—understanding that Zevran would stop resisting once I was caught, not to mention that I appeared to be the lesser skilled target. Zev had just drawn his blade from the body of yet another assassin, and was alarmed that I was surrounded. Sure enough, only two out of the four who attacked me fell dead from my stabs, whilst the rest disarmed me with ease—my blades were knocked from my hand—as they stepped closer.

Not that I was completely helpless, of course.

It took them a moment to realise that they were on fire, and panicking, they retreated hastily, out of the door. I suppose that they must not have dealt with mages much, to be scared off by a spell as gentle as that. I would have tried frost, but my concentration was sadly lacking, so flames it was.

We realised that they had left a lone male, who had slipped behind the counter while Zevran and I were preoccupied. Something—I think that it was the alcohol—chose that moment to hit my brain, and in an instant I felt woozy. My knees were weak.

My companion raised his eyebrows at me as I sat, slightly winded, on a nearby chair. My head was filled with the sound of my own rushing blood. Dizzy.

**Zevran**

"You might as well come out. We do not wish to harm an unarmed man." I called as I approached the area where the elf crouched. The assassin's blades had been knocked to the floor just previously, and I was more concerned for the well-being of my _bella_ than to be quite so focused on delivering death to this elf. She seemed unwell.

To my surprise, the boy sprang upon me with forks, jabbing the sharp prongs at me, doing his best to rake at my unprotected face. In the confusion we fell, wrestling to the ground. He was a mere child, barely of age but such ferocity was as yet, unseen in any a Crow. We were taught to always fight with a dispassionate demeanour.

He had to be fighting for something else. Someone else, I assume. Perhaps it was for his leader, who now lay unmoving on the floor, courtesy of a certain battle goddess.

The forks he wielded like the deadly blades, the 'thuds' they made as they struck the wooden floor were very real, and these inched ever closer to more _sensitive_ areas of my body. Parts that were very important, especially once I got my _bella_ intoxicated.

It was highly uncharacteristic for me to be caught off guard, or pinned to the ground in such an intimate combat— but I did my best to keep him off me—all the while trying not to kill him. The child deserved some leeway, being sent into battle quite as early as this. Finally, I landed a kick to the boy's groin, and I shoved him off me. Fighting dirty was always an option, especially when one's manhood was under threat from steel _crockery_.

xOxOx

**Kiera**

I awoke in bed, suffocated by the sheets, struggling my way from under them was almost impossible. I waved my arms, fighting the covers. I remember waking like this, buried under bedclothes. Waking up next to _him_.

I panicked, and threw the cloths from the bed. _Finally_, I thought—_ I can breathe_. This was a split second before I fell off the bed, heavily, onto a figure which had the most delicious smell of rain and wine and spices. I liked that smell—it chased away all other memories, of the musky scent, of wood, of _pine_ that I had come to associate with… someone that I thought I'd left behind.

A low chuckle came from the form, and I felt arms slipping around me, holding me close. Of course, it was Zevran. I muttered an apology in that uncomfortable position, mostly because I could not move my arms.

"So my _bella_, you've finally resisted your better nature and have come to _ravish_ me in the dark of the night?"

His words made me laugh, it was so typical of him—but I knew that we were now in a very compromising position. Yet I continued speaking. I had to be some kind of stupid.

"No, unfortunately. When I do find the courage to ravish you, Zev—it will be under an endless night sky, with the sound of waves in the distance, nothing but the light of a nearby campfire to illuminate our vigorous love-making—which will last till dawn." He seemed genuinely shocked, speechless at my words. And I knew just how shameless I sounded.

I pulled away, and to my relief, he allowed me to sit up next to him on the very thin mattress. My head ached.

"Now that—is the _drink_ talking." He mused, careful not to touch me as he too sat upright. "Something the matter?"

I shook my head. I had dreamt of Ferelden—the events—still haunted me. I didn't want to talk about it.

It was another reason to avoid the drink. That taste—somehow, had triggered fears, thoughts, doubts—voices that I had never expected. "How did we get back here?"

"We walked back here, in a fashion. The assassins have been dispatched, and the Crows will know that their efforts are futile. I will not wish their fates upon anyone when their cell master finds out about their failure." His voice was dry, and faintly mocking.

I vaguely remembered tottering back to Lazarus's tavern. But that was all I remembered. I wondered if Zevran had changed my clothes for me. I guess… I didn't want to know. We sat there in the dark, listening to sound of our breathing. Zevran was the first to break that silence.

"You missed a most epic fight, my _bella_."

"Mmm?" I turned, trying to see him in the pitch blackness. He apparently could see me. Elves had the upper hand in unlit surroundings.

"It was first, even for me, the deadliest dual wielding that I have ever seen—"

Zevran said that he was the best amongst the Crows. For him to call it deadly… "Dual-wielding?"

He continued with a decided air. "Yes, it was—how do you say it—_enlightening_."

"What about it? Did he get you? Are you injured?" I moved to conjure a flame, to check on his wounds, when his cool hands grasped mine, holding them tenderly. I hastily cancelled the spell—remembering the last time someone had gotten burnt by doing the same.

Zev's voice was quiet, sombre, even. "I am fine, my _bella_. The prongs did not _get_ me."

"Prongs?" This had to be some new weapon I had not seen, as of yet. Interesting.

"I did not mention it? My opponent improvised with _forks_." That note of humour, so delicate in his voice—set me off again. This time, he joined in. That laughter filled me with a nice, warm feeling. Like I was safe.

"How—simply—_ingenious_—however did you evade his _stabs—_ and— _thrusts_?" I was giggling like a maniac; barely getting enough air in my lungs.

"Ah, I am a _champion_ dancer my _bella_, shall I demonstrate my elegant moves? One only has to know when to _twist_ the respective _halves_ of the body—_firmly_ and _rhythmically_." His face was very close to mine now, and I felt his alcohol-scented breath—enthralling and intoxicating.

I retreated back to my bed, tunnelling under the sheets—this was too much. Too soon.

"Er… Per—haps in the morning, Zevran."

The heaving sigh did not escape my notice. "Whenever you're ready, my _bella_."

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><p>P.S.: By the end of this week, I think I shall be free! For a while, at the very least. Hope you liked this chapter! Please leave a review kay? XD<p> 


	5. Chapter 4: The Hunt for a Fat Crow

**Chapter 4: The Hunt for a Fat Crow**

**Zevran**

From my description, Lazarus and I had gathered that the assassins which had been set upon us the previous night were some of those under the man named Dario; one of the lesser masters within the Antivan Crows. There weren't many rules when it came to assassins, but not sending underaged children into battle against seasoned fighters was the one that most Cell masters abided by; these youths were valuable investments, and should not be so wantonly wasted.

There was information that Dario had—which would be beneficial to both Kiera and I, beginning with the identity of those who had tipped him off regarding our location. It was time to pay him a visit; before the grand event that was to be held five days from today. My _bella_ had seemed most distracted after that night, she paid barely a mind to what was said, but also refused the drinks the other customers of the tavern as politely as she could.

"My _bella_, are you here with us?"

She only nodded, her eyes glazed and apparently not attending my words.

"We have a mission ahead of us, with this Dario person."

Kiera gave another vague nod. Even Lazarus could tell that there was something wrong with her non-committal behaviour, directing the enamoured patrons' attentions elsewhere.

Pointing to the map of Antivan City, I continued speaking. "We have to be prepared to storm the quarters that he has set up— east of this location."

She glanced at the parchment, and muttered her acquiescence.

"But before all that, we also have to stop by the nearest brothel, rent a room for a couple of hours, and then go searching for the Holy Sceptre of Sexual Fruition."

There was a deep silence before my _bella_ looked up at me with a growing grin. I knew then, that she had been paying attention all along.

"Very funny." A delicate blush had settled on her cheeks, most fetchingly.

I shrugged, trying to hide my lascivious smile. "It was worth a shot."

xOxOx

**Kiera**

The man Dario was very much a dangerous enemy—he was desperate to rise within the ranks of the Crows, which had triggered his aggressive move last night—which would not be a welcome act to the Antivan guild. He was also a student of the leader of the Crows, the man to which we were to take our fight—if Zev were to ever live a life that did not involve being hunted by the assassins' guild.

The latter was rendered mute when I revealed the place which my thoughts revolved around—Ferelden, no doubt recalling that we had not parted on such amicable terms a couple of months ago. I wasn't still brooding over that, although it remained one of the reasons why that country weighed heavily in my thoughts; the thought of my companions turning upon me had been startling and… for want of a better word, _emasculating_.

Seheron had not fared much better in my memories; but there at least, I had a friend who never turned from my side in combat. Sten was very indeed loyal, almost to a fault.

I found myself smiling while looking at a most chastised Zevran—who evidently did not regret his decision to stop me from taking the final blow. And he saw that, not without a relaxing of his shoulders. He was relieved.

"So… you're not still angry at me, my _bella_?" Zevran was watching me carefully; his light brown—almost-golden pupils were narrowed into slits in the drizzling rain.

I muttered, my hood up against the annoying droplets which were both warm and invasive. I could feel that my underclothes were drenched. "Only if you promise to not attack me from behind—we're good."

**Zevran**

It was as if my _bella_ prepared these lines for my benefit, so rich with entendres they were. "Ah. That… I cannot promise. But I will say _this_—you'll definitely enjoy it more this time!"

Kiera shot me a look—before turning away, hic-coughing. It appeared that she would rather our banter not occur in the open. That could be arranged. Our proximity each night were excellent opportunities for such play.

The roofs were a remarkable hiding place for a couple of would-be trespassers. No one looked up when it rained. Granted, it was a little slippery, but it worked as a very efficient route to Dario's _lair_—a mansion in the middle class area, near the outskirts of the capital. The slight tapping of feet on one's roof was also very likely to be mistaken for the sounds that were common from precipitation.

We were now approaching the mansion, a large and grand construct that stank of the ostentatious way Dario flaunted his wealth, made off the lifeblood of the assassins under him. He was bound to expect a counterattack, and it was apparent that my _bella_'s favourite spells would be less effective in such damp weather. Lightning would be bad when we were out where a storm was gathering, and Flame would barely make a mark before those too fizzled out in smoke.

xOxOx

**Kiera**

We stopped, clearly outnumbered— surrounded by archers. The man walked forward, our target in the midst of all this. Even with my hood up, I didn't like the way he was eyeing us. Almost appraisingly, as if we were the merchandise displayed for sale.

"So Zevran, who is luscious friend of yours?" Even his voice was greasy, very much like his rotund appearance.

If only I hadn't lost my footing on that steep decline— landing heavily on my feet and hands in the lush lawn, we would have taken Dario in mere seconds. He was out in the open, admiring the foreign blooms that were not native to the city—I recognised some ornamental tulips from the gardens of Orlais, and another species of dewdrops from the wilderness in Seheron.

My companion gave a small shrug. "She is just there—why don't you ask her yourself?"

"Oh come now, that would be very rude."

I rolled my eyes so hard it actually hurt. "I am right here, ask what you wish."

"Ooh, a veritable spit-fire. Tell me your name then, my dear."

"I am not your _dear_. You can call me _Bella_."

Zevran raised an eyebrow, giving me a sideways glance. He was trying not to smile, the ass.

There was a long pause as the man registered my attempt at a slight. "Well… we shall have to see if your countenance deserves that name—" The cell master raised a delicate, smooth hand to lower my hood but I moved faster—somehow, I didn't want those hands any nearer to my face. Zevran had told me stories about him—and all of them included heinous acts of depravity. This man had even sold whole families— to Slavers, and not all of them were targets chosen by the Crows.

The men around us let out whistles, lewd Antivan exclamations of awe. They must be very deprived of women to react like so. The man's thin lips spread into an unpleasant smile, sparking an unhealthy sheen in his beady eyes. Zevran still seemed very calm, although he had stiffened slightly when the men called out what seemed to be demeaning slurs on my moral character.

"Well. It seems that whoever gave you that name made it very _apt_, _bella_." I felt filthy, just speaking to this man.

The way his tongue rolled over the silent of sounds made it feel like it was a disgusting act only performed in the darkest of nights, in the most ill-reputed place in hovels, hidden away from the light of day. I was beginning to detest this Dario person.

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><p>P.S.: Last update for the week- don't miss me so much! XD Thanks for reading and please leave a review!<p> 


	6. Chapter 5: Some Bondage

A/N: So I've decided to get this out there, before it festers anymore and I itch again to have it rewritten. I apologise for the delay, on the account of school—midterms, projects, and papers due. Hell week is upon us in Singapore. That said, please enjoy! I will update at least once a week! (Also, rating is now M. Well… see the title? Good.)

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><p><strong>Chapter 5: Some Bondage<strong>

**Kiera**

"So tell me— what is it that you require from me, hmm?" Dario's voice seemed to have dropped into a whisper; his very breath invading my personal space.

"We are here to request some information; among other things." Zevran seemed wary, even though his voice had not changed.

Still the man lingered, never once taking his eyes off me. "Oh? What other things?"

"Threats, maiming, perhaps even death—take your pick." I snapped. My companion only smiled as the words rang out—and the men around us raised their bows again.

"Oooh. How interesting. Might I enquire about your approach? You are surrounded by my men, as it were." His brown eyes seemed glazed over, almost as if he was enjoying this— confrontation. Creepy.

"Like this—" A sweep of my hands brought the blade to his neck, and another to his groin—and I glared around, daring the men to shoot. Did they really think that women were harmless _flowers_?

"Do tell." To my surprise, Dario chuckled, sending ripples of laughter around us. They were not buying my bluff. I pressed the dagger's edge against the man's neck, drawing a trickle of blood—but the sounds of mirth continued. If anything, they were even louder than before.

With a suddenly raised hand, Dario's manner changed. The very way he spoke was more commanding. This was what a Cell Master was truly like—not one to be taken lightly.

A single word had silenced them all. _"Basta!"_

The muddy pools that were his eyes flicked upwards, meeting my glare—almost as if hypnotized by what he saw in mine.

"We shall discuss this, then? I have rooms which will be more— _comfortable_ for whatever you have planned for me." The upward inflexions on those final two words chilled me to my stomach. But as much as I did not like this man, we needed information, and Zevran gestured for me to follow Dario, while _he_ came along— close behind.

xOxOx

**Zevran**

The man had moved, seemingly to disarm my _bella_ as soon as we were indoors, but she fought back, bloodying his nose in the process. Kiera was certainly very touchy. Dario cleaned the blood off with a silk handkerchief, although he kept watching her with much interest, not caring that his men had initially entered, wary of Kiera's movements.

I casted my eyes around the room while remaining alert to the men's whereabouts. Dario was not a man one took chances with, not when he had the upper hand with his superior numbers.

The room we were in appeared to be a large room filled with… implements, which brought to mind very many nights of much _pleasurable_ pain. I noted that there was leather, metal, and even some—well, wood.

She motioned for him to sit in the single metal chair which stood in the centre of the room rather impatiently with her blades. "Now talk."

"About? You have not asked me a question." He appeared to have forgotten about my presence, watching her closely with a smile curling on his lip.

My _bella _turned to me, close to breaking point. Something about Dario made her so impossibly agitated. I nodded, and stepped into the man's line of vision, blocking his view of her. A building exasperation had tightened her features minutely, even as her gaze darted about the room. It appeared that she was only now noticing the interesting—furniture in the room. She did not seem scandalized, if anything, her interest seemed slightly piqued. Dario did not miss any of this, and dismissed his men with a flourish, while she was similarly occupied.

The men filed out of the room without another word. They seemed almost reluctant, but whether this was due to their unwillingness to leave Dario alone with two potential assassins or due to their own _curiosity,_ was rather unclear.

Dario's tastes were unusual, to say the least—going by the rumours that were rife during my days as part of the Crows, this had certainly burgeoned into something more…extreme. He was propositioning my _bella_, the girl who was barely twenty—to 'take charge' of their _situation_, of which, I hoped for her sake, that she did not understand.

But of course, Kiera, being an extremely precocious girl, understood his nuanced words.

Kiera had seemed amused, raising an arched eyebrow to Dario's suggestions. "What, you aren't afraid that we might _'off'_ you, just for kicks?"

_He_ seemed to be perspiring with anticipation. "Why would you? You require information, yes? That and… only _you_ can provide what _I desire._" My _bella_ stood stock still when she heard that, her delicate visage turned to regard Dario's own, very sharply. I wondered if she knew exactly what he meant—his… toys were indeed interesting to consider, but Kiera seemed the entirely wrong person to ask for such a… _favour_.

I might be up to it, for one, but not when she was around to corrupt.

A silence ensued, and she only seemed to recover after a long while. "You're… into this sort of thing?" She wondered aloud, pacing around Dario, who remained entranced by her movements. Kiera was considering the implements on the walls around us, before taking a determined step towards these, her movements rapid and curiously sure-footed.

I went to help her, but she was already done choosing—holding her prizes behind her back, eyes shining as she tried not to giggle when she met my gaze. She was being _impish_—and had picked an extremely odd moment to do so.

It intrigued me—seeing how much she seemed to be enjoying herself. This was a side of Kiera I was sure no one else had ever seen. I decided to watch, content to remain apart from this. Mere _watching_ was also something new to me.

Kiera drew behind Dario, her silence unnerving him. But when he turned to peer at her, she strapped him down, in a flash, binding his hands and neck to the arms of the metal chair. She had picked some leather—dark, stained leather that had evidently seen much use; but had been tempered with some metal clasps; there was no releasing oneself from that sort of thing—Dario would no doubt require more than a little help in undoing those.

My _bella_ seemed to know her way around these things, having so efficiently secured the man in them.

Small chuckles of entertainment rose from Dario, whose eyes began to take on a glazed, hungry gleam.

"Tell me then—what will be present at this party of Drago Ulisse's. Guard movements— perhaps?" she had, in her left hand, a most wicked-looking whip, black, well-oiled, and this she held slack, almost thoughtfully.

Dario gave a sharp bark of laughter, before shrugging somewhat apologetically, even while so expertly restrained.

"You'll have to try _harder_— _bella_." My _bella_ slipped a piece of cloth over his eyes, before cracking it— just once, hard against the legs of Dario's chair. The man twitched, not-quite writhing in reaction to that sudden sound. Even I had not expected that, and that drew me in even further, I was barely in control of my own actions, experiencing all of this, in her presence.

Something sparked in Kiera's eyes, as she tossed the whip over to me, before motioning for me to take over. She then leaned in close; her voice was now sultry, oh so _seductive_ as she laughed coolly in the otherwise muted room. (It was apparently constructed to make the quarters soundproof—not a peep would be audible from the outside) This appeared to be the right thing to do; the poor man was straining against his bonds, almost unconsciously, trying to follow the sound of her voice.

She held up a hand of fire, gesturing to me to heat the end— and the tough material did not burn, but the tip of the leather was now rendered shiny by the exposure. Kiera then took it from me, and the whole length of the leather had been close to being scalding hot, but my _bella_ seemed immune to the high temperature. Mages must have a remarkably high tolerance for heat, I thought, staring at the almost-glowing implement. With a slight curl on her lips she pressed this, lightly, against Dario's inner thigh. The man felt it through the thin silk, and let out an involuntary moan.

"_If you want more—tell me what you know."_ Insistent whispers issued forth from her perfect lips, moist and reddened in the warm surroundings. Ah if only she and I were alone…

Frankly, I quite enjoyed how she looked when she wielded that _equipment_— shadows forming in her eyes, some fierce glints caused by this power play had set off those orbs which had become so enticingly foreign. I did not recognize this _bella_. The girl I knew seemed to have matured, astonishingly, into a very deadly _femme fatale_. Her movements showed that she knew exactly the right things to do in order to tempt a man; her knowledge of the darker pleasures was indeed _exhilarating_.

These were the limits I intended to explore in my own time.

**Kiera**

Dario finally let out a groan—at least the man's defenses were breaking down; my growing disgust with him—as well as with my own actions was getting to be rather overwhelming. Sweat beaded on his now-oily brow, and trickles of the same dampening the blindfold that covered his eyes.

"He will be—expecting— you at the party," _he_ gasped, large chest heaving as he tried to replenish the air that had been exhaled in that long cry. "A few of the other Masters have been ordered to sweep the city— in search of the both of you."

I thought about it. This meant that the easiest path was to meet this Ulisses directly at his mansion, and amid the bustle that made up the masquerade, a meeting could be arranged amid all those milling bodies who would make it hard for them to execute an ambush. It was a definite opportunity we could not miss.

"Tell me more—" I tried the whip again, the sound cracking so very loudly in the room. Dario flinched, even as a dribble of drool trailed onto his chin. He was enjoying it—far more than I intended. Really.

I raised the leather weapon (it really was a weapon—I could just imagine the tip splitting skin, flaying flesh, tearing tissue) again, before Zevran stopped me, his hand grasping mine tight, his manner almost strained, his words were tight, breathing heavy.

"Enough, Kiera." I stared at him; he seemed most affected, though by what I could not tell.

Zev still seemed strange, stilted as he gestured in Dario's direction. "We will not get anything out of him in the near future, my _bella_."

"What? Why?"

Even his usual laugh sounded odd. Something was definitely up with Zevran. "I do believe that he has lost consciousness. He is altogether too _fat_ for such _exertions_." This was true. Dario had fallen into a swoon. What have I done? Well at least he was breathing.

xOxOx

**Kiera**

"So… will you tell me?" Zevran's voice sounded almost normal again, the accents on his words were not quite as thick as I heard back in that room. We were finally leaving that awful room, dark, humid, warm—smelling of hidden things, forbidden things, seductive things that took on all forms, and not all of the acts performed in there (I was willing to bet) were purely for _entertainment_.

I did not really care to relive that place quite so soon. "Tell you—what?"

"How you became quite the… dominant? I must admit, it is very refreshing, my _bella_."

"I read a lot when I was in the Orlesian Order." This was true. Riordan had the largest collection of smut I had ever stumbled upon, locked up—or so he thought—in his quarters. Wonderful hours I spent, huddled in front of the fire, reading myself into a literary (and somewhat corrupted) coma.

Zevran seemed overly curious. "Still… to read about a thing and to perform it—is quite another."

He was very serious though, deep in thought as we hurried back to the _Argento_—barely noting that he was stepping into some puddles of mud left behind from that awful downpour. I have never seen him like this—so distracted.

I did my best to engage him. "I'm very good with impromptu. Also, I think Dario might have put me off such things forever." I even smiled sheepishly, to prove my point. _He_ never even saw it. Odd.

xOxOx

**Zevran**

I hid myself away from Kiera as immediately as I could, retreating into the room we shared, my mind filled with too many images of the things I yearned to do with her—to her. To my credit, she did not seem to have noticed, for I had tasked her with finding a suitable outfit that she could wear to the masquerade. She was truly a mystery, my _bella_ was, and the more I found out about her, the more I found myself entrapped, sinking as surely as a desperate man who claws at the air while neck-deep in the sandpools which lay outside Antiva City, near the borderlands.

There was no escaping these thoughts—not that I wanted to, per se, but _¡Ay, __Dios mío__!_

Sometimes, Kiera could drive a man to the edge of frustration.


	7. Chapter 6: Coloured

A/N: A physics test and Japanese class in a few hours. Help! Ah well. This is what I chose to do with my free time. Heh. Hope you like it!

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><p><strong>Chapter 6: Coloured<strong>

**Kiera**

Zevran seemed to be unwell; his haste in getting back to our room was quite out of character—although perhaps he was feeling under the weather, for we were caught in the rain, after all. I only knew that I didn't want to rest. I could still hear that man—his cry, his actions, his words—his expressions, and all of that irked me; I needed something to occupy my time, even if it meant endless street stalls, browsing clothes while under the suspicious gazes of the stallholders, being ignored when I spoke in the common tongue. Everyone seemed to converse in very rapid Antivan, their vigorous gestures and raised voices were rather intimidating. Haggling was rampant, and yet, amid the busy streets and thronging crowds, I felt alone.

Isolated, on the account of my (hostile) dressing, my (lack of) tongue, my aimless wandering earned me no favours with anyone wanting to ply their overpriced wares to a possible tourist. It was then I decided to try the uptown storehouses, hoping that those who owned these would be more likely to pay more attention to my foreignness, and help me purchase a singular, _show-stopping_ frock.

We needed— or rather— I needed to insinuate myself amongst those who were attending the masquerade, diverting the guards with my intriguing clothes, my eye-catching ways, playing the perfect foreign belle with as much aplomb I could muster. I wasn't confident that I would be quite as able to pass off in the upper echelons of Antivan society as the nobles would no doubt be expecting me to, but I didn't need to blend in.

I had to stand out, even if it meant swooning in the middle of the hall or crying '_Fire'_ –inciting panic amongst the party-goers. The incident had to draw as much attention from the guards as I could, if it was to ensure that Drago Ulisse, Master of the Antivan Crows was as cut off from his protectors as possible. This had to end tonight.

These thoughts accompanied me as I entered the larger, more spacious districts, and I was so very distracted by them as well as the sudden difference in architecture—tall, magnificent buildings lined the streets, shining, glittering even—that I did not recognize the woman who had been trailing me since the first. Emiliana. She appeared next to me, seemingly out of the blue, treading upon my boots without a pause.

"Where are you going?" She hissed, leaning close to my ear as we stopped in the middle of the nicely-paved streets. Very clean too, these were—white flagstones which reflected the onset of twilight, evening was coming on fast.

I looked up at the voluptuous woman; her hair was curly today, styled in a fashion that complemented her heart-shaped face. She was going for the sweet and lovely look, it seemed. And yet, this contrasted sharply with her attire—hooded tunic, sensible pants and walking boots —all very dull and plain. Utility was her outfit's goal. It had certainly helped her in evading my focus as she trailed behind me for the whole journey. She did not look happy.

"Were you following me?" I muttered, meaning for it to be more of a comment than a real question. I knew that she was, and she knew that I was now aware of her efforts—for her manner became somewhat defensive, and marginally more hostile.

She crossed her arms, almond-shaped eyes boring into mine. Her voice came off as haughty, and normally that would have annoyed me, but I wasn't really in the mood for such nonsense. "And so what if I was?"

"Nothing much. I could hardly care about what you did in your free time." I stepped around her figure, and began walking away.

The large white stones laid into the ground were indeed a lot more interesting than the small posses of women who took sideways glances at me, before breaking off into giggles. The silk-dressed men were also watching me with an increased interest, but did not hide this at all. The leery eyes and I assume that the weapons did not put them off one whit. Perhaps they thought it was a ridiculous getup, no doubt just for show—to most, I was not dangerous, simply because I was a woman.

"Are you perhaps… looking for an outfit for the masquerade?" Came that sharp voice from behind me as a hand enclosed around my wrist. I stopped and turned, and this Emiliana no doubt felt a moment's satisfaction to have thrown me of my concentration with that sentence. That cat-like smile did not last long, however, for I yanked my arm away, hard—annoyed at her unwelcome touch.

There it was again. Hate. That emotion which I had managed to inspire in every female I came across—beginning with the _mara_ and _tammassran_ in Seheron, and now— this woman. Oh well.

"I am simply offering my assistance. You will not be able to… get any in _those_." She nodded in my general direction, the ambiguity was quite apparent to me. And my patience was wearing thin.

"Now I'm confused. You mean the store? Or my current attire?"

"You think you're so very funny." Emiliana had a rather steely gaze.

I gave a slight shrug. "I try. You mean I'm not? I'm crushed."

Her eyes swept over me dismissively. "They will not serve you, dressed like that."

"Even though I have the coin?"

Her abrupt laughter was grating. Derisive, I was sure it was meant to be. I hoped to prove her wrong.

Apparently, Antivans did not take very well to women in armor.

Emiliana was right. No one bothered attending to me amidst the upper-class powered women who were the epitome of glamour. Emiliana had the most infuriating look on her face as she watched me exit yet another closing dressmaker. How is it that this woman could make me feel like this, I do not know. All I knew was that I only needed thirty seconds with her in a dark alley somewhere.

I stomped off, away from the uptown street, back to the dingier roads where very evidently, I belonged. This shrew was still at my back; her unkind mirth still rang in my ears as we entered the Argento. To the oblivion with the bad dreams—I desperately needed a drink. And a plate of cookies.

**Zevran**

I was surprised to see my _bella_ enter the tavern with such a dark look, at least, until I recognized the woman who followed closely behind. Of course— _Emiliana_. She had a _gift_ with such things, knowing the exact things to say when dealing with her rivals of the fairer sex. Both women sat at a table at the far end and Kiera glowered ominously as she uncorked the bottle of wine, pouring its contents into a copper goblet. I decided to watch, _again_.

One could learn very many things with some eavesdropping.

"You're apparently _hopeless_ as a _woman_. What _he_ sees in you, I will never understand." This was said, very pointedly, to my blonde beauty. I saw the latter twitch a little, setting the drink down with more than a little force. Some of the wine sloshed onto Emiliana, who fumed as her incognito costume was stained.

Kiera slipped the loose hairs behind her left ear, while her right hand strayed to the blades on her hip. "And whoever do you mean?"

"Why, Zevran of course. Unless we share yet another handsome elf as an acquaintance?"

My _bella_ opened her mouth as if to speak, but paused shook her head— grabbing the goblet instead of her daggers.

"What? No witty comeback?"

Kiera seemed resigned and determined to finish the whole bottle of the sweet vintage she loved so much. "None whatsoever."

"So you concede defeat?"

"Excuse me?" Kiera raised an eyebrow, the anger building in her azure eyes as she regarded Emiliana's jubilant smirk. Now would be a good time to intervene, but I must admit, it was very interesting to watch the two fair maidens '_having it out'_ over a very charming and good-looking elf.

"You are excused. Zevran deserves no less."

My _bella_ was on her feet, leaning over her rival, whispering something. Emiliana's face paled considerably, although she tried to seem unconcerned. I gathered that a challenge—or more likely, a threat was issued. To my amazement, Lazarus simply wandered in amid it all, perhaps trying to prevent a brawl between the two loveliest individuals in his tavern.

**Kiera**

"Ah, Kiera, how goes the dress-hunt?" Lazarus clasped his hands together as he squeezed between the two of us—that _woman_ was likely going to be a smudge on the wall if she continued speaking. Her very breathing offended me.

I muttered as I sat down again. "Not very well." I could feel my cheeks burn, an effect of both the alcohol and my rising temper. Casting my eyes around the ale-house, I alighted upon a most familiar figure—Zevran. Ugh. He was going to make fun of me now, I just knew it. How long had he been observing us?

I did not pay any attention to Lazarus's next words, for my gaze was drawn, inexplicably, by my friend's movements in this direction. I only caught the single 'upstairs' from what appeared to be a long and harried speech. I was then man-handled, dragged off my seat, and shoved away, though my reluctant steps made it a slow process. My last view before leaving the first floor was of Zevran taking a seat with that—that—_woman. _ Gah.

xOxOx

The dress was breathtaking; the black lace on the bodice was intricately done, and a high collar lent it an aura of grace. This was a dress that left very little to anyone's imagination, the slit in the skirts was scandalously high, and was made to be worn as one _sashayed_ in front of an adoring crowd. I tore my eyes from it, turning to the man who was offering it to me even though it belonged to his _wife_.

"You don't really have to…"

"I insist. It's not as if my wife has need of this anymore. In fact, she'll probably thank you for taking it off our hands."

"Your… wife?" This was news. Lazarus did not quite strike me as one who was married.

"She's off somewhere in the hinterlands at the moment, but they're expected here within the month."

"I…see."

A sudden smile lit up his striking features. "You will require help getting _into_ it though. Should I—?"

I stared at him flatly. He broke into a forced laugh as he left the room, getting my hint thoroughly. I followed—there was no way I was putting that revealing silk dress on without a long bath. Also, I needed an assistant.

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><p>P.S.: Next chapter will be called <em>Seduction.<em> Just to get your hopes up. *giggles* Thanks for reading, and please leave a review!


	8. Chapter 7: Seduction

A/N: It's official. Updates will be made weekly. Or as... often as I can. I'm sorry for my immense load of schoolwork x_X

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><p><strong>Chapter 7: Seduction<strong>

**Kiera**

All I required to bathe was the use of a couple of pails; I didn't even need water, not when I could conjure ice, straight out of the humid air. These I melted and heated with small blasts of flame—this was something I had done rather often during my time in the Orlesian Order. I had no adjoining bath then, and being unwilling to wake the other women who had the luxury of such facilities, I made do on my own. It was rather fun, all things considered—I could take my time in washing.

But here in Antiva, the dress was all I had in my head—I couldn't believe I was actually _strategizing_ a way to put it on by myself. I did not want Emiliana to approach me while I was _exposed_, but I knew of no other woman whom I trusted. This meant that my only other option was…Zev. I… was actually feeling nervous at the prospect of that. I mean—he _had_ seen the bodies of many women, and men. What if— _augh_. He knew I had scars. Zev it is, then.

I detested that woman. And I knew that I had to best her at her own game. I could not keep running from raging, jealous females.

**Zevran**

My _bella_ emerged from the cellar, bringing with her some small wisps of steam. Her flushed cheeks, her slightly damp hair. Even from this distance I imagined the scent of her skin. She appeared a lot calmer, evidently refreshed from her bath. Emiliana made a slight noise to my right, and I too, noted at how the whole tavern had gone silent from Kiera's entrance. _She_ was dressed in a large tunic which was thankfully, not nearly as worn as the one I liked so much.

Sauntering over to the table, she slid into her seat with a cat-like grace, expressionless, her eyes fixated on Emiliana's. Something passed between the two of them in that instant and Emiliana scowled darkly, breaking that shared gaze. Kiera was certainly making quite the enemy in the woman who was to be her companion for the party— I suppose I should let her know of that development; before I got washed away by the endless ocean in her eyes.

"Did you have a good… bath, my _bella_?" I began, my own gaze lingering on her freshly washed skin, exposed neck, the vague hint of her figure under the loose material.

"Yes. Finally, I feel clean again." She crossed her legs, and this drew my attention to the fact that the pants she wore were also linen, and fitted her svelte shape _just so_. I found myself having to rein in my thoughts, trying hard not to appear too vacuous around her. There was something infinitely alluring about Kiera tonight.

Emiliana's voice, both irritable and sneering, broke through my silence. "So, am I to assume that Lazarus has found a dress that would fit _that_ waist?" I looked sharply at her. Her remarks were quite uncalled for.

"Apparently, yes. Although I imagine that the lace would not hide much of my chest. That bodice is rather exquisite." Kiera found no cause to flare up immediately, although I thought I saw a spark of something cross her features.

I heard a faint movement from the Antivan woman, her incredulity showing in that huff of breath. I knew Emiliana _would_ be piqued by that description. The woman had been going on about how she hoped that she would not outshine my _bella_ at the masquerade, and although I did not care to hear the disparaging remarks, I had politely kept my tongue. It seemed, however, Kiera had something else in mind.

She had smiled, my lovely goddess—a dangerous curve spread on those lips, before those parted, and a challenge was issued.

"Would you… perhaps, desire a look, then?" That silence was deafening. The entire alehouse seemed quite vested in our little exchange.

My _bella_ stood up in a swift movement, laying her hand on my shoulder. I felt this gentle weight press through the fabric I wore, stirring thoughts in my mind, body; none of them remotely unpleasant. I knew was caught. Very happily too.

My immense shock and delight was known when I heard the words that came next. "Would you… mind helping me— into the dress, Zevran?" Ah, as if there was any doubt. My bella was certainly being _forward_ tonight.

"Of course. I thought you'd never ask." I struggled to keep my face straight, but I felt a grin form. It certainly was an excellent opportunity.

Just then, I realized that Emiliana was a _fine_ motivator for my _bella_.

xOxOx

**Kiera**

My heart thumped as I walked up the stairs, with Zevran trailing in my steps. Did I just shamelessly ask a man to help me with my clothing? Something told me that Zevran was beginning to rub off on me, though whether this was a good or bad thing, remained to be seen. I felt more liberated, surely—that look of abhorrence on Emiliana's face as Zev left her side was quite satisfying. I did not care for the way she assumed his attentions, as if they were rightfully hers.

And here I was, leading _him_ to the topmost room, to the sounds of catcalls and cheers; and Lazarus was not helping with his cry of "_il prossimo giro lo offre la casa_".

We finally shut the door, and when I lit the candle, I found Zevran staring at the famous dress, before turning slightly, appraising me with those tawny eyes, finishing his thoughts with an amused smile. I was also very aware that there was a bed in the room. I could not stop thinking about it.

"Let's get started, shall we?" Zevran unlaced the collar of bodice quickly, his rapid movements slipping the whole thing from the _dress form_—a very _daintily_-_figured_ feminine shape. I rather thought that I could wear the frock without too much trouble, but frankly, after Emiliana's remark, I was finding that quite… difficult to believe.

He was altogether too… impatient, but there was no putting it off, I supposed. I began pulling off the shirt, barely paying attention to the sounds of some faint swearing. The scars that had no doubt caught his attentions marked the whole of my back, six— a couple criss-crossing where daggers had once drawn across my flesh. I reached for the dress, exposing the deeper tracks that men and darkspawn had left on my abdomen— and I saw the elf's eyes widen considerably.

"_Che_…" He began, barely able to string his words together. The light in his eyes darkened. I could not bear his unabashed stare any longer, so I took the dress, stepping into it with my pants on. I wasn't quite that comfortable around Zevran. It was when I began tightening the cords on the bodice that I realized that I could see the whites of my smallclothes through the ebony lace on my chest, which very likely meant that I could not wear them.

I dutifully turned away from the man, struggling again with the undoing of the delicate string.

**Zevran**

I admit that I was not at all prepared for the sight of my _bella's_ scars, seeing them at such close quarters made them all the more real. How could anyone want to hurt such a delicate flower of a girl? I only broke out of that trance when she turned away, her manner shaken, her frustrations nigh in her trembling fingers. This was indeed my cue. It was rather thoughtful of Lazarus that we had had a bed in the same room.

Sliding my hands over hers, I embraced Kiera, pulling her into my arms. I heard her breath catch as we finally gazed into each other's eyes, the rising flush chasing away the tears that had gathered at the corners. I noticed that one very _singular_ part of her… garments was already on the floor, which interested me greatly.

I yearned to run my fingers over every inch of her skin, her bare arms and growing warmth—simply agonizing. But no. It was too fast. I had to go slow, I wanted to take my time with the woman I was holding so tenderly. Nevertheless, that did not stop one from slipping a hand below the layers of the ravishing dress, if only to be thwarted by her trousers. Such a tease, my _bella_ was.

**Kiera**

Zevran certainly was not bashful in his advance; somehow, I found myself lying upon the mattress that was the bed—and him, fingertips stroking the side of my face, down my neck, trailing the design of the black lace— toying with the black fastenings that held my bodice together. Chuckling just once when his hand strayed under my skirts and finding the pants, he seemed content to keep his attentions above my waist. My own hands caressed his face, tracing the tattoos on his left cheek, marveling at how _good_ his breath felt on the back of my neck—gasping a muffled cry to the Maker—and the man stopped, his breathing heavy.

Zevran seemed almost… intoxicated, his eyes were heavy-lidded, and his whispers were only in Antivan—urgent mutters to no one in particular. Once again, I was struck by how attuned I was to his scent—if anything, I wanted to drown in it, the crisp smell of rain and the curious musk were all I could think of.

Gently tilting my head back, Zevran leant down—and I closed my eyes, aching for the kiss that seemed eventual. I did not expect those slightly parted lips press against my forehead, and him rising up, moving away from the bed. Sitting up, I gave him a dirty look—he was grinning, although it seemed somewhat strained.

I felt empty, having been left quite like that—my thoughts were in utter disarray. As were my skirts. "Zevran…"

"I will not ravish you just yet, my love. Not when we have an audience just outside this room." Saying that, he opened the door, revealing the woman I now heartily loathed with all my soul. Emiliana.

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><p>P.S.: I am sorry for leaving it at second base. For now. *nods* Hope you like it! Please review! haha<p>

-"il prossimo giro lo offre la casa" means "Next round is on the house"! Thanks, Cibiripilli! xD


	9. Chapter 8: Lavish

A/N: So I'm getting this out of my system post-haste, before I complete my already-late essay. Hope you like it—it's the party at last!

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><p><strong>Chapter 8: Lavish<strong>

**Kiera**

The large garden was ridiculously lavish—and as much as they tried to blend in, Emiliana and I spotted the sentries who were trying assiduously to remain inconspicuous. These men looked slightly overwhelmed by the sheer number of people, and were trying to keep their eye on everyone at the same time while trying not to be distracted by all the scantily dressed women (and oddly enough, a few men) in the crowd. Everyone had on a mask— glittery, bejeweled objects that shone in the twilight, catching the light from the candle-lit lampposts that lined the streets. In short, it was a surreal evening—I could hardly believe that all of this was not part of some very vivid dreaming brought on by Lazarus's special brews.

Zevran was infiltrating the castle by way of the _underground_ _passages_, apparently, this was an entrance that Drago Ulisse would have problems finding willing guards for— the sewers were not pleasant smelling, to say the least. Security would be lax, especially when these guards would very much prefer the pomp and grandeur that was happening elsewhere in the castle grounds.

_He_ seemed to have worked wonders with Emiliana, whatever he said to her made her so much easier to be around. This tentative camaraderie did not feel absolutely natural, but it was a start. We were actually having fun, chatting idly about the dresses, the colours, the customs that condoned such licentious behavior happening around us. At least I no longer felt that the woman was going to stab me the minute I turned my back.

Yet still, she made me wonder—what were her _true_ intentions towards Zevran?

I had attempted to broach this subject once while gracing the lively streets in our matching strides, but she merely laughed it off, calling their _encounters_ all manners of names—"purely physical", "distracting"—but I saw something, outlined by that dark colour around her eyes as well as the pure blood-red of her mask— _pain_.

We entered the main hall; one of the few to be permitted an entrance, due to our own provocative dressing and flirtatious manners—and the first thing I noticed was my reflection. The room was covered in reflective surfaces, the walls were gleaming with the silver of mirrors, gold and silver goblets gleamed upon the trays that shone. Jewels glimmered in the flickering flames, light and flashes cast off the chandeliers. Grand indeed. None of the rabble that stood with us in the streets was allowed in; there were none but those who seemed right at home amidst such lavishness. Nobles. And yet, among these bodies, I caught glimpses of a figure in black, sailing through the midst, thriving amidst the garden of flesh that surrounded her. It was only when I'd lost sight of Emiliana that I realized that the form was none other than my own.

I saw nothing familiar in that image of myself. As all around me dazzled in their blues, yellows, reds, I was the only one in black. My steps faltered, judging that same woman, her glowing hair and skin, contrasted against her dark costume. This could not be me. I did not recognize her. Whoever she was, she looked dangerous. Those ice-like eyes enthralled me.

_Such coldness in a reflection could not be mine_—I thought, despite the frosty demeanor which I had chosen display in order to complete my _disguise_.

"Death personified." I all but jumped when a voice whispered in my ear.

A man, similarly dressed in the dark hues of the night, was observing me from behind; a tall figure in an imposing swath of blackest cloak. Was this _Ulisse_? I found my searching gaze drawn to the embers which glowed behind that shadow of a mask, intense and all-consuming, and I admit, I was terrified.

xOxOx

**Zevran**

The trick to slipping into any party; be it a lavish or private one, was to wait until the guards were bored. This usually took about an hour and half, just before the usual changing of shifts—although I gathered that the ones stationed near the sewer entrance within the grounds were bored from the first. The usual 'divide and conquer' strategy did not apply—the other guards could not notice anything amiss this early in the night when one's target was somewhere in a castle that large.

Thankfully, a well-timed fart enabled enough surreptitious chatter between the flatulent guard and his amused friend for my footsteps to be unheard as I slipped out of the foul waters that flowed from the _humble abode_. I knew Kiera could hold her own at the masque, her dress, and her manners—would be perfectly intriguing to the most jaded of nobles. All she and Emiliana had to do was to draw guard attentions away from the _charming_ host of the party; a man with connections to the highest echelons of the Antivan court, also one who had been paying off the Crows for quite a number of years.

_Ulisse, Drago_. This was his spring residence, and the festivities were a yearly event, drawing nobles from all around Antiva to the capital for a single night of debauchery and sin. His guardsmen were naturally quite professional, dutifully and actively watching for any sign of intrusions by person or persons unknown. Very likely me.

I dropped the cloak which had up till covered my body and hopefully prevented the smell from seeping into my clothes, also hiding the now-ruined boots in the nearest pile of straw in the corner. These were some extensive dungeons which I now had to traverse.

xOxOx

**Kiera**

The man was blabbing, telling me all about his wonderful life in his father's shadow—his dreadful existence in waiting for just the right moment when his father would up and die, leaving him the _estates_. Yes, multiple estates. This was _Ulisse_ junior I was speaking to, the scion of the very man we were expecting. I did my best to seem interested in his plots, to seem wonderfully sharp and also ingratiating to the man's ego.

We wandered up the staircase, engaged thus so. He spoke in perfect, barely-accented _Commons_—an odd choice, in its pre-emptive approach of my foreignness. Most Antivans seemed to expect an understanding of at least a smattering of their own language when speaking to me—but evidently; this man was not most Antivans. He seemed almost disgusted by the spectacle the main crowd created, the collective swaying, moaning, chaos that was the mass below us on the first floor. I in turn kept my eyes to the grotesque tapestries hung on the walls—trying to understand their allure.

I could not refuse the drinks he put into my hand, nor could I detach myself from _his_ company in search of Emiliana. Just where had she gone? I only paid enough attention towards the end of the man's final few words, judging that these were all I needed in order to respond, slightly overwhelmed by the man's demand for my focus.

These last words were mocking, as the man leant close again, cloying breath tanging my inhaled air.

"You and your companion are searching for my Father tonight, yes? Unfortunately, you only have me to deal with."

I realized in that moment that my attentions were thus divided due to something which had been affecting my mental faculties—not poison, but a drug nonetheless. I panicked, grabbing the blade which I stowed—strapped high on my right thigh, trying to remain upright even as the ground swallowed what strength I had left. The cool hard marble welcomed my head with a dull 'thud', and all I remember seeing was Emiliana's face, divested of her mask, bobbing next to this _Ulisse_.

We were betrayed.

* * *

><p>P.S.: Yay for suspense! I hope you like it so far! Leave a review please? xD I'll update as soon as I find the time to rewrite my 'already-done' next chapter!<p> 


	10. Chapter 9: Unchained

**Chapter 9: Unchained  
><strong>

**Zevran**

The dungeons were surprisingly empty of prisoners although there was the usual number of guards patrolling the dank hallways. I killed these men sparingly, hiding their bodies in the same rooms they guarded, with as little blood as I could manage—splashing its telltale red on the flagstones.

Finally winning my passage to the first floor, I remained in shadow, hidden by the black and deep purple décor, watching the numerous bodies that swarmed. He was nowhere to be found—_Ulisse_— and I doubt that he would be hiding in his quarters. The plan was not going so well.

A cry of _"assassin"_ was heard, and a commotion occurred in the hall. There was then a sudden surge in the number of guards, and these big burly men headed straight for the crowd that were backing away from a woman—sprawled upon the floor with a dagger in hand. One of them spotted me as I stole closer, trying to get a good look, but I only saw Emiliana speaking to a man in deepest black. He seemed vaguely familiar.

The tall man cast Emiliana aside, allowing the guards to escort my poor _bella_ away. Towards the dungeons. The _civetta_ had seemed distraught at his behavior, but she remained mute, all the while watching him— and I realised that I knew this person. He was Ullise's son. Emiliana knew him personally.

I should have known better than to have left Kiera with her; that shrew was going to get my _bella_ killed.

xOxOx

_She was chained to something; she remembered thinking, as she came to, groggily. Her head was a swoon of what appeared to be wine. All red and sloshy. It was like her body was not hers—she could barely move her head, a heaviness had settled in her limbs. Something made her stay as sober as she could—her mind was all she had left— trapped in a shell that would not respond._

_She remembered the party, the guests, and the alarm being raised before she sank onto the ground, weakly drowning in the muffled clamor that rang so very loudly in her ears._

_A total of four men— how she knew this, she did not know—stood before her. More were posted outside the rooms. She could smell them. Taste them. Practically feel their heartbeats, even from this distance. These weren't friendly people. Neither was He._

"_Do you think that you can just waltz into the masquerade and make an attempt on Ulisse's life?" Sneered a thickly accented voice, as a rough hand grasped her chin. The heat from that single touch snapped her back to the fact that she was being held captive, against her will. But the haze in her mind was not clearing—another kind of power was gathering, beyond the fog that had all but swallowed what was left of her._

_The voice on the outside of her jabbered on, and she felt a growing irritation at that high-pitched screeching that seemed to emit from the man's gaping hole of a mouth. Other words whispered from within her. These were nothing as harsh. Soft, low, filled with promises, not demands. _

_No. She knew who He was. And that she must not give in._

_And why not? Nothing could be worse than… this. Being trapped by slovenly pigs. He offered her the strength to defeat all who stood in her way, and all she needed to do was to let him do it for her. She wanted her freedom more than anything—that was more important._

_She shook her head, clearing both the fingers that had hold of her chin, as well as those gentle ones that had gripped her thoughts. She was no longer a child. She did not need His help anymore._

_This—this was wrong._

_She felt a slap, hard across her face, shocking her away from the outstretched hands. Her lip had begun to bleed. It had been a while since she had been treated this way. Too long. She felt Him stir, agitated, yet still anticipating her reactions. He was always watching._

"_Troia. You will tell us where he is—and we will go easy on you. Maybe even let you live—"_

_She whispered the only words she knew were the appropriate reply to that._

"_Death first."_

_She gasped as cold hands slipped under her skirts, ripping that—as well as the ridiculously flouncy petticoat from the waist down. Exposed, she now was—only her smallclothes were left. The men were not going to let her off, even if she revealed what they wanted. Their thoughts were quite clear—and lustful._

"_One last chance, my pretty lady."_

_There was a mage amongst these men. He seemed to want something else, altogether, from her. Something more than mere bodily pleasures. He genuinely wanted the information that they believed she had. Zevran._

_A splash of something warm touched her face, trickling past her lips. Salty. Blood. She felt herself shoved aside, the seal that had kept Him at bay was now broken. _

"_You will tell us, where he is." This mage was barely a man—that voice was not yet broken. And he was attempting blood magic—trying to control her thoughts. How foolish. _

"_And if I do not?" This was not her. Not her speaking. He had forced his way past her, moving her lips, breathing from her lungs, blocking her own path to herself._

"_Then you will be left to the mercy of my… employers."_

_There is so much contempt in that voice—He chuckled, inwardly. The gruffness of his voice caused little trills of panic in her stomach._

_She agreed. This was something the two of them could exploit. _

_No, not the two of us—He smirked, teeth flashing a sharp white in the middle of so much darkness._

_It'll only require little old me._

_She could only stare as He yanked his powerful arms away from the wall, the rocks coming apart with the chains as they ripped a large hole where these were once attached. She flinched as one of the small fragments glanced off her forehead—it did not hurt, but the sheer strength He demonstrated was overwhelming. She wondered if he could have done this all along._

_He stopped to brush a claw against her head, where the fragment had hit her—almost tenderly, before stepping purposefully forward, taking control._

_He was smiling. He only did that when He was feeling particularly malicious. And the last time that happened—a quarter of a forest burnt down around them, by a rage of the blackest flames. He only did that to protect her. That was what __he__ said, at least._

_The darkness now ate away the light from the torches. They still burned, but this glow grew ever blacker, filling the room with the muted quality that often only accompanied dreams. None of her captors were the wiser._

_The light was now shadow, surrounding the men who would not live through the night. This was what He promised. What he always promised._

_Retribution._

_The mage leant forward, drawn by His pledge to reveal all._

_Several things happened at once. She wasn't sure which came first, but all she knew was that her chains no longer bound her to the wall. Her hands were bloody. But they were not her hands anymore. They were His._

_The mage had been torn apart._

_She heard blades drawn to her left, and He responded, grabbing one man and using him as a shield, chuckling as they both felt the sword enter the man with a heavy thunk—swears erupted as the remaining two men— realized that the lithe form was not going to let them live._

_More fighting was happening elsewhere, she knew—her thoughts turned to the cries from outside that door, someone was coming. For her._

_Zevran._

_She didn't want him to see her like this, to know that she had Him powering her movements._

_She wondered if he would cast her away if he knew. Everyone did—but he, at least, seemed so different from the rest._

_Zevran said that he would never leave her. Not like the others._

xOxOx

**Zevran**

What I saw behind that door was beyond anything I could have imagined—my _bella_ standing, above the four men who had held her captive, her hair loose about her shoulders, tinged with the colour of red. She was only dressed in her tight bodice; the lower half of her body was bare. Her hands—arms were covered in blood—and this dripped down her sides as she turned to stare at me. Her eyes, the colour of wine. A sweet, hypnotic, intoxicating vintage had replaced her sapphire orbs.

"My _bella_? Are you hurt?" I approached her with caution, even though there was no need to fear—she was a fighter, demonstrated by the many battles that she had survived thus far. The two men had bled out, most definitely as they slumped onto the floor—no longer held up by an unseen force. I raised my gaze, back to Kiera, who was already pulling on some pants, taken from a chest that was nearby.

Those foreign eyes surveyed me, before shucking on a shortcoat, buckling this tight with a leather belt.

"Do I _look_ injured?" A smirk curved on those luscious lips, and this rhetoric was not lost on me.

I shook my head, unable to speak. This was not my _bella_. If so, where was the real one? The lovely woman whom I had fallen so desperately in love with—she had to be in there. Somewhere.

"Where is she?" And yet, those were her hands, which tied her lovely tresses up into the familiar ponytail.

That voice was sultry, gentle, coaxing, even. But that cadence was not hers; it was not how _she_ would have spoken. "Do you want her back—that badly?"

It did not hurt to be polite. "Yes. If you please."

"Very well. I shall return her as soon as we evade the other guards who are foolishly headed this way." Saying thus, she—that uncanny figure stepped into the hallway, spinning the single blade it held with such ease.

Whatever it was, it seemed to have no trouble dealing with the very heavy resistance we met along the way, the stealthy assassins so unique to the Crows were sought out and killed with impunity. I fought as best as I could, but still my eyes were drawn to that form. Her golden gleaming hair became the target of every arrow, but the magic—the force it commanded destroyed the archers even from this distance, invisible violence was dealt out to the men without pause. I saw the ammunition burn up in mid-flight; none even came close to the both of us.

My Kiera was already a glorious sight in battle, but whatever it was that had her under its control—had to be straight out of a legend.

* * *

><p>P.S.: And... we have demons. Well one. Demon. Thanks for reading! Review, please? ^_^<p> 


	11. Chapter 10: Retribution

A/N: The usual salutations— to my readers, subscribers, reviewers—thanks for keeping up with the story so far, I hope you're still enjoying it! Things get a tad darker.

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><p><strong>Chapter 10: Retribution<strong>

**Zevran**

The thing that had taken over Kiera's body—the demon, had not exactly kept its word, it seemed, for we were not heading for the exits of the castle, rather upwards, and into a vast library. A smile curled when we came upon various traps along the way and it had seemed… almost malevolent. I had never seen that on my _bella's _face before. Crossbolts disintegrated in mid-air, trigger traps clicked and rusted away like a thousand years had passed. _It_ seemed to know where all of the explosives were, and Kiera's alluring form drew more guards to their doom, with careful steps around the evidently marked flagstones.

This was apparently where it had wanted to go, all along—the room that seemed to cover an entire floor with its collections of ancient tomes.

Stepping in front of the figure—I met those red-tinged pupils without flinching. That gaze was both cold and fiery. This facsimile of my _bella_, had to end. Just as I searched for the least aggressive manner to put my objections, it spoke, knowing exactly what I wanted to say.

"I know what I promised, elf. Soon." With that, my _bella_ stepped past me into the room, appraising the walls of books, before stalking towards one of the shelves Very calmly, it raised Kiera's smooth hand, and removed a book, which—surprisingly enough, opened the fireplace, revealing another cavernous room.

There he was, Damien Ulisse—scion of Drago—evidently the same man who had orchestrated tonight's events. His torso was bare, as was the woman he had tied to the single chair. Emiliana. Wounds riddled her chest, and some of them were burns. The bastard.

A force slammed the half-dressed man backwards, pinning him to the far wall. A snap of Kiera's fingers broke Emiliana's bonds, and I helped the poor woman get dressed who though as weak as she was, was still conscious.

The two of them seemed to be conversing. The thing that wore my bella's shape—had seemed very much amused by the man's frantic replies.

xOxOx

_The Grey Wardens kept getting reports that small bands of darkspawn were sighted in the hills, to the south; and villages grew agitated as they claimed that the borders of the deadened lands were spreading, ever closer to their farms. Many of the Orlesian Wardens returned with little to confirm this._

_And thus, it was her first mission as a recruit, she and three others would be accompanied by Riordan himself, to first investigate the areas, with great caution—she was continually reminded. It was not as if she did not know this. Care always had to be taken when one was not within the main Compound. She worried for the other recruits. They were excellent fighters, but lacked a certain something. She called it courage. Riordan called it brains. Both of them privately agreed that Jason, Caradoc and Andre would balk at the sight of the first tainted beasts they saw._

_And then, they were right. Both Andre and Caradoc had almost turned tail, if not for Riordan standing in their way, blocking their retreat with a set, grim look. They had no choice but to face the awful creatures. Jason was no better off—the man emptied his stomach of its contents after lopping off the darkspawn's head—the acrid smell of the tainted blood was indeed churning._

_Riordan was most impressed by her determination to become a Grey Warden, even if it did seem like a convenient excuse for her to remain out of the clutches of the Orlesian Circle. They were all clutching their vials of darkspawn blood, protecting it at all costs. Breaking one meant that they had to go back out there again._

_It was when they made camp for the night that the Crows attacked. Riordan had offered to keep watch, the girl had seemed quite uneasy on her own._

_He had watched her, intently, as she peered evermore into the flames of the campfire, fingers splayed out, gently guiding the flickering where she wanted them—her youth showing in those playful moments. Neither of them spoke, but a creaking in the trees at their backs alerted them both to the possibility of others in the vicinity. Immediately, Kiera closed her fist, and the fire extinguished, leaving all of them in darkness._

_Riordan almost found himself swearing, but that would give his position away. That sudden dimness around them was not going to help them with whomever it was—whatever it was—though it was not darkspawn—the pitch black obscured even the shadows of their attackers. He heard a weak cry to his left, and spun around, almost stumbling over a body that lay in his way._

_He fended off the blades as best as he could manage, but he was fighting blind—and was shoved to the ground by a heavy knee to the chest, and held down by a steel boot to the throat._

_This was when a huge flash occurred, and the men were flung away, like ragdolls, crumpling to the floor—and Riordan struggled upright, albeit slightly winded, but none the worse for wear. A figure was looming above them, blazing with a strange light. It was Kiera, holding one arm against the bleeding gashes on her torso—panting heavily._

"_Kiera—?" He called, hoping that she was fine. Illuminated by the strange essence, he noticed that the three men were dead, gone—slaughtered in their sleep. More rustling was heard, and figures dashed away from them, their campsite, into the forest._

_He watched as the girl smiled, and immediately the trees burst into an awful obsidian flame, consuming the line of trees, working its way inwards—and then he heard the screams._

_And he never told anyone about those, either. _

xOxOx

**Kiera**

"He calls himself Azrael." I massaged my aching forehead. The tingling was gone, and I could breathe again—but I could still feel Him, His touch, under my skin. It was worse than the taint—that faded in time when there were no darkspawn around—Him, I sensed, always at the brink of my vision, lurking, and not benign in the least. He seemed convinced that I had to be protected, and was always watchful. He knew my innermost fears, and always came to my aid. I fought hard to gain my freedom from him, and still he kept vigil. The demons in Seheron had made him suspicious; worried that I was losing my grip on what was more important—a purity of the mind. If there was such a thing with _him_ skulking around in there.

He did not want to own me, or my body. He had no use for a world that would bind him to a physical form where the Fade didn't. And so he did his best to protect me, this window he looked out of, marveling and learning about a world he was never a part of.

He was no longer just a protective spirit, I believed. He had changed into something far more jaded over the years. My experiences made him believe that mere protection was not enough. He was focused on the one thing that mattered to him.

My survival.

Promises of power had let him in, all those years ago in the Orlesian Circle. The blood magic was all I had access to, for a while. He taught me the burning flame, the way to split the Fade. He taught me to maintain a calm veneer, lulling others with my pale innocence. He told me he was all I had, and that I should never depend on others, for they would fail me where he would not.

He told me that he would always be here. No matter what.

"Is he always—there?" Zevran had not yet bolted from my side, but I knew that it was only a matter of time. I must seem like an abomination to him—a monster unchained. I was tainted. When we found Emiliana, I had feared the worst. I half expected Him to have killed her on sight, hot as He was for the _traitor's_ blood. But seeing her like that—had cooled all thoughts of vengeance. He had seemed almost… pitying.

I shook my head, only half in response to Zevran's query.

I knew how it would sound—like I was always on the verge of possession, but it was the truth. "He is only alert when I am hurt, but mostly, he leaves me alone—content to _watch_."

Hearing thus, an unfamiliar hardness crept into Zevran's voice.

"And yet he has not shown himself one whit while we were in Ferelden, what with the Blight and that whole business with the Orlesian templars." Was he hurt that I had kept this from him?

"I used to have defenses which have prevented Him from breaking free. Those seem to have been weakened during my trip to Seheron." I stopped short of explaining my dealings with the demons back there, as well as the additional blood magic, both of which had angered _Him_.

"_Seheron_. That explains _everything_—I knew that I should have kept you to myself. But instead, I send you off with that _Sten_." Zevran was working himself into a rage, a sight which I had never seen.

It was touching that he was quite so furious—he paced the room quite rapidly; that he did not appear to care about the demon which remained so insidious, at the borders of my mind.

xOxOx

**Zevran**

I left the inn when my _bella_ began tending to Emiliana's wounds again. The woman had been tortured for information, it appeared. I needed time alone to think. I truly did not care about the demon, but Azrael—whatever it had called itself—would be endangering my _bella_ by its presence, especially if it was going to continue sitting by and _watch_ when Kiera needed help most.

Ulisse—and by this, I meant junior—had apparently been sent by his father to flush us out, and I should have known that the man would not be so easily trapped. His gibbering had proved to be useful, at the very least—revealing that Drago was most definitely holed up in his fortress of an abode. _Castello di Vincigliata._ That was where we were to head next. But I am beginning to think that perhaps, I should do this on my own.

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><p>P.S.: essay due tomorrow! *panics* Haha. Oh well. Please review, yes? :D<p> 


	12. Chapter 11: Templars

A/N: Templars! Sigh. They had to come, sooner or later. There won't be a chapter until next Thursday at least. I apologise for this, but I have to focus. Crunch time.

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><p><strong>Chapter 11: Templars<strong>

I stared at the garments which I had left in the bundle in the far corner of the room; the rags were whatever was left of my and Emiliana's dresses. Such a shame. They were of such a spectacular design and make. _At least Zevran had seen me in the dress_, I sighed to myself. That was the first time in ages that I felt girly.

Emiliana was coming round at last—she had slept through two meals, so I made her some light stew, with the fish Lazarus had chosen, freshly haggled for from the market. She needed sustenance, and almost immediately. She watched me with some suspicion still; apparently, she had not forgetten our previous animosity. I smiled, trying to reassure her from my chair at the bedside. Emiliana smiled too, a tentative one—swallowing the stew slowly. She was altogether too wary.

"Um—"

"You—" Both of us spoke at the same time.

"You first," I nodded, inclining my head gently, so as to not startle her with sudden movements.

"You're… a _mage_." She was unable to keep her incredulity out of her voice, and I thought I heard a smidgen of disgust. It was only a matter of time before it got out anyway. The streets had to be rife with the destruction that had occurred at the masquerade.

"Yes, I am."

There was an awkward silence. I had forgotten what I'd wanted to say to her.

At least she had the grace to appear somewhat ashamed. "And you _healed_ me? After I—"

"You loved _him_, yes?" I broke in—call it women's intuition or whatever—somehow, I knew. That—Damien. Emiliana had fallen for a very bad person.

Bitter tears filled her eyes, and I looked away. "Your use of the past tense is… correct." Her sadness was contagious, and honestly… I wasn't one most people ran to for comfort. With good reason. I had no idea how to comfort them.

"Love makes people do things. Bad things, good things too." I finished lamely. She snorted.

"You're terrible at this." She sounded less miserable, at least.

"Oh, I know." I have been told this, many a time by Cerise in Orlais.

Another long hush ensued.

"Do you love him?" Her question surprised me. Did she mean Zevran? I must have seemed blank, for she repeated her question, in explicit terms.

"Zevran. Do you love him?"

"I… well…" She got me. Was this what it was like? It had not felt like that with… Alistair.

The woman persisted with her query. "You don't know?"

I really did not know what to say. "I…"

"Well… You're here, in Antiva. For him. Does that not count as a prime example of your earlier _comment_?" I had not thought of that, merely nodding, vaguely, trying to think. She seemed to have noticed my confusion, and no longer spoke of it.

We chatted for a while more, before _I_ fell asleep. I didn't care if the woman who slept so soundly next to me had only very recently jeopardized my life—I was that tired. And it was dreamless. Waking up to the sounds of some shouting—I realized that Zevran had not returned. The food laid out for him had not been touched.

_Faint snorts came from Azrael_—and I almost jumped. He was amused at something. Or disgusted. I couldn't tell.

I got off the bed, pulling the sheets over the still-sleeping woman. Her words still… affected me.

"One thing at a time," I muttered to myself, even lilting tune that was normally played by the tavern's resident minstrel had fallen silent. This, had to be something serious.

I opened the door, closing it behind me, careful to keep Emiliana out of whatever was going on. She needed to rest, and I was curious—the antagonistic shouting was uncommon in the _Argento_.

Emerging from the cellar, all eyes snapped to me as the shouting broke off in mid-sentence— almost as if they were expecting my entrance.

_Of course __they__ are, _came that sardonic voice in my head. It was kind of distracting.

Several armored men stood in the center of the alehouse, and I recognized the markings on their shiny armor. Templars. Seeing my unconscious mouthing of that word, Lazarus's slightly reddened face darkened considerably; but he could not meet my gaze.

"You are… the mage?" asked the nearest templar, who was very evidently their Captain. He was surprisingly young and rather dashing, and had the oddest twinkle in his green eyes. He looked somewhat familiar.

It was evidently the only thing I could admit to, there was no way I was getting out of this. "Yes."

Hearing that, the men stepped towards me, attempting to take me into custody. To my shock, Lazarus stood in their path, glaring at them—_daring_ them to go ahead and try getting past him. _Azrael chuckled_. At least one of us was feeling calm. And at least, the templars didn't smite me on sight. My stomach was knotting itself.

A loud sigh was heard, and the young Captain spoke again. "Look, old man—just let us do our job."

I touched Lazarus's shoulder, and he flinched, before turning to face me. "Don't. You _cannot_ go with _them_."

"And if I don't, they'll going to try and take everyone in. For harboring an apostate. It's not worth it. I'm not worth it." The tavern owner's shoulders slumped as I walked past, willingly, to the waiting templars, who seemed most relieved that I had chosen to go without a fight.

In taking those steps, I pondered my chances briefly. Azarel had left few survivors. Only Damien was left breathing, and only just, for reasons unknown. He would not be a problem in the near future. They only knew to look for a mage due to the mysterious fire that had broken out as we made our escape. Templars could tell when a fire was magically-charged, but only if they investigated within the hour. And so, the trail had led, to me, I supposed. I was not a Grey Warden of their Order.

And there was no way to prove that I was not an evil maleficar out for blood.

_Haha, 'out for blood'._ He chuckled again. Azrael's nonchalance was slightly infuriating, at this point.

So it had come to this. Lazarus muttered something as we exited the tavern—something about _"sending word_". He meant Zevran, I suppose. My only comfort was that at least these men weren't the Orlesians from whom I've escaped countless of times before.

xOxOx

They were a civil sort of templars, for they did not attempt to clap me in chains, nor were they concerned with me escaping, chatting idly amongst themselves in Antivan with me walking in the middle of their party. They had also seemed rather popular around the city—I saw none of the automatic shying away and slamming of doors which the Orlesians elicited everywhere. Quite a few women waved their handkerchiefs at them, cooing at how _shiny_ their armor was.

Laughter, I heard, from the men escorting me—their being held in high esteem evidently made them very… lucky with the ladies.

"Nice job back there, you know, with Lazarus." The captain whispered as we reached the courtyard of the Antivan Circle, a large, expansive place which no doubt also came with its own set of dungeons.

I saw spires, high roofs, wide structures that had none of the eerie quality of Kinloch Hold. The Tower, the Orlesian gothic prison— had seemed so constrictive, so terribly claustrophobic. There were huge _trees_ in this compound— and I saw children practicing their flame spells outdoors, guarded by a contingent no less, but at least _they_ got to see unfiltered daylight. In Ferelden, we were rarely allowed outside, and I recalled nothing of the sort in Orlais. Fresh air was unthinkable.

Large, numerous windows, tiled balconies, plants, paved walkways, engraved pillars. We stopped in front of the similarly grand templar quarters, and of course, the prison. And even these had quite— inspiring statues at its entrance.

I struggled to tear my eyes away from the architecture that lay around us and to look at the templar, very much in awe at how… humane and luxurious everything seemed. "Huh?"

"He can be quite the stubborn old coot. Thankfully, we did not have to bring him in. Now that—would be… how do you say it— _imbarazzante._" He snapped his fingers rapidly, struggling to find the right term.

This was by far the strangest conversation that I have ever had with an _actual_ templar, his candidness was indeed refreshing. "Embarrassing? How so?"

His words were extremely unexpected; as was the half-smile that had crept into his voice. "Is there not a familial resemblance? I have often been told that I've inherited my father's very charming features." Now that he mentioned it—yes, he had his father's looks, from the crease in his brow down to the carefully-groomed goatee.

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><p>P.S.: Does anyone find it strange that Kiera goes with them without a fight? Even I feel it, but you know, sometimes, they do what they want. I'll figure it out. I hope. Thanks for reading, and leave a review, kay? :D<p> 


	13. Chapter 12: Zevran

A/N: *waves at everyone still reading* Thanks for being such good people- I do hope you enjoy the chapter! Thanks for your continued support!**  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 12: Zevran<strong>

I already knew the route to this castle; every Crow knew it—most avoided all any mention of it—the place where aspiring assassins were taught to fear. The younger me had resisted— for quite some time— making a living through death. As a result, I had seen the inside of the fortress and survived its horrors—emerging quite the new man. I do not remember much of my time here, or perhaps, I chose not to remember. In any case, it was not a particularly pleasant place.

The populace avoided being even within sight of its towers, and the guards who patrolled in its vicinity were paid ridiculous amounts of gold—payment to ignore the cries from within. The man who perpetuated the corruption of the Antivan Royalty, the man who paid for them all, was Drago Ulisse.

A single person might be able to get in. It was a good thing that I had thought to bring my weapons along—I would not return to the tavern until I have made sure that the man I searched for was within. _Castello di Vincigliata._

_The first watch was made of easy, young men who were not focused in the least. A sidestep, and both blades were buried in their chests._

I remembered the chains. And the rack. These implements were those used to bre— no, to teach. I heard the low voice of the Master as he took his time, musing upon the pain that no longer stabbed at my joints, instructing those who were with him in the pleasures of dealing pain.

_Rapid footsteps to my left and I had an arrow nocked, letting this fly, piercing the chestplate of another guard. Unfortunately, his cry had alerted others, who were now hot on my trail._

And then, there were the threats. I could take these with ease. In Antiva, relationships with and amongst the Crows never turned out well. One did not go through life without expecting a knife or two in the back. Each one led a solitary existence, until there was need for cooperation. Friends… were not trustworthy.

_Several of them surrounded me, marginally more seasoned then those I had just finished. These were still not Crows, and were not my match. They too, soon bled to their deaths._

Much mocking later, and I was still not yielding. Proving to be difficult, they all agreed. I gathered that there was now an understanding I was a personal challenge to the Master. No one else was allowed into the chamber. He was taking his time. But I will not beg. I will show that I am better than any of them. I will survive.

_The pile of corpses was by now quite visible. But none other came. The daylight revealed no movement, no charge, no deadly arrows seeking me out. But this is what the Crows are good at. Hiding. Shadows. Not exactly connoisseurs of fighting fair. There was silence as I crept along the wall._

Nights of unspeakable fear, icy fingers filling the hollow of my chest, before I was released. I swore fealty immediately. Only he and I know how close it had been, the verge—that—would have been too far. Pain and pleasure was now forever entwined—and it felt… wrong, somehow. But I was still me. And I was no pawn.

_I was within, the walls of the fortress. Horses, and many of them, lined the sides of the walls, indicating the armies that the Dragon had in his purse. Not that they were needed in a world of subterfuge. No other nation was in thrall of such a man. None of the other Masters could fill those shoes. He was a formidable man._

xOxOx

_The room in her mind mirrored her surroundings in which she had been placed. Airy, for a cell. _

_How long has it been?_

_He paced, watching as her as she peered out the window, barred as they were. The tower they left her in had quite the view._

_She barely turned, but her answer was not lost to the wind that had picked up outside. Clouds were gathering._

_A couple years, at least._

_She heard a long low chuckle. He had a tendency to do that, knowing that the ripple of sound prickled her so._

_You do realize that years are a mortal concept?_

_She finally turned to face him, frowning, slightly._

_You asked._

_True._

_He inclined his large, misshapen head. He had taken to wearing that guise, she noted. The figure of a pride demon. She wondered why—He rarely restricted Himself to a single form before. Perhaps He enjoyed towering over her. The roof certainly allowed for it._

_So, the Orlesian cavalry appears._

_She jerked when He said that, looking out the window once more before paling considerably._

_More armored men rode through the gates to the north. Theirs gleamed in the fading sun's rays, the pure white that signified the Holy Divine's right arm. Amongst them, one stood out the most. Pascal. He was the only templar she knew who carried a crossbow._

_It seems that this Pascal did not perish in that fire. Azrael looked thoughtful._

xOxOx

I spun on my heel; narrowly avoiding this new resurgence in guardsmen, their arrows flying dangerously close. None would live to sound the alarm; a quick death was what I promised, what I have always strived for in my missions. A clean kill was sufficient, for me. As a result, I was always paired others, my solo missions were always closely monitored. This was the reason why I had not yet formed my own cell, although my accomplishments were many. I was not Drago, not fit to be a Master, for none of them were elves, nor would I be the first, especially with my tender feelings. And I was content, taking orders with Taliesin and—Rinna.

But this, I had not expected. Being accepted by the same people I had been sent to kill—ending the Blight—falling in love with—I… was thinking too hard, and was being careless. A stray, panicked wave of a sword grazed my arm, and a shield got between me and my final opponent. The clouds were now heavy, casting shadows over the small space of a courtyard—giving me a considerable advantage. I stepped back, cloaked by the swift onset of darkness, and was now invisible to the man who hid, even now, behind his metal kite shield.

The man lowered his shield too late, a dagger gutted him from behind, and he collapsed, hitting the ground along with the first splash of raindrops. You know the saying—when it rains—it pours? The skies had opened, and the ensuing curtain of water obscured much of my vision. I felt a stinging in my arm—the wound was now bleeding copiously and my leather armor— now ruined by that gash.

Perhaps it was a sign to return, and I would have loved to—if only to see my _bella_ again— but not when I was this close to winning entry into the Keep.

Only the guard captain stood in my way. But when he turned to flee, he met only his death—a single swipe opened his throat to the heavens, and more blood poured, mingling with the downpour.

xOxOx

_Rain. She remembered the rain._

_The pitter-patter of raindrops, staining their cloaks with nary a pause. Annoying and dampening. They were walking; it was too wet to ride. Twice, they've evaded the hunters. These weren't friendly woodsmen who chopped trees to feed fires. They were assassins. Marc was incredibly grim, his mouth pressed tightly into a single line. Hugues had suffered some mild injuries to his chest—some heavy blows had dented the cuirass, but had very pointedly refused her aid._

"_You know, she does know some healing magic." Marc grumbled under his breath. The health poultices weren't going to last them to the next town._

_The other templar muttered back, through his gritted teeth. "More magic? I think not. Her spells are what got us on this ridiculous journey to this frozen wasteland of a nation."_

_The little girl shuffled ahead of them—the beginnings of snow had coated the ground during the night. She liked the little paths she made. But Azrael hated the cold. Sleet, he called it. The slush was slippery, so she made sure that her guardians had at least, a firm ground to walk on._

_Azrael itched to burn something. Perhaps even the templars. Their armor would melt into little puddles of—_

_No. She shot back— they were nice. Well—only Marc was. Hugues just… was nice, by association._

_Azrael fell silent. He was brooding._

_He never left her side, and He knew just the things to do to entice her. Fade walking was easier when He was in a good mood, or at least, as good a mood as she had ever seen Him in. With his help, she had slipped into dreams of the two boys who had been nice enough to befriend her—and they never even once realized this._

xOxOx

I had entered through the dungeons again; several exits led to the same place—with a veritable labyrinth of rooms ahead. Political enemies were lined up in cells, awaiting their punishment. These men reached out for me through the bars of their cells—unable to make a sound. Most of them had had their tongues removed, or had windpipes cut— a technique I had only heard rumors of, back in the day. They would most definitely not survive the traps that stood between us and the exit. It would be far kinder to leave them here.

Coming upon a cell, I found the two elves who had once been our opponents in battle. From the bar. With the forks. The boy stared out at me, incredulous; his companion had a most feral look in her eyes. Both were naked, and neither looked to have been fed for days.

"You—" He began, and none of the previous anger was seen. His spirit was not yet broken, for he moved to cover his companion's exposed body. Sighing, I picked the locks. The _Castello_ was not a place for idle conversation.

"Is he here? I asked, handing the child some of the garments I had filched from the nearby guards' quarters. The men were, as usual, not left alive in my wake.

He nodded, swathing the cloak around the girl. "He is not done, yet. But your mage friend—"

The man I searched for was definitely here. But now was not the time to confront him— I first had to get these two out. We left through the sewers.

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><p>P.S.: Have three assignments due this week. The usual. Ah well. If you do find the time, please review!<p> 


	14. Chapter 13: Fade walking

A/N: Funny how inspiration comes to you at the most inconvenient of times. Finished this right after my essay (to be honest, I wrote it while writing my science essay). Odd. Anyway, hope you like it! Oh oh! Someone from Perspective makes an appearance! ^_^

Note of advice, it does get darker.

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><p><strong>Chapter 13: Fade walking<strong>

**Kiera**

"I might just die here." My own voice came out in a whisper. I was suddenly freezing in my shirt and trousers, which had been thick enough for the Ferelden climate. Perhaps this was what seeing your own death was like—being surrounded by templars, trapped in a tower, with nothing at hand but more blood magic and the aid of a demon. Oh Maker, I was going to be smited, tied to a stake and burned —and there was still so much I had not done. There was still… _Zevran_.

Azrael's words were harshly uttered, echoing faintly in my head. _They will not. I will not let them._

"Pascal knows I killed Hugues. And most of the other templars who went to Ferelden with him." Still whispering aloud, I hugged myself, sinking onto the bed. The pouring rain was not helping my sinking spirits, and my aching head. "Perhaps surrendering to the Antivan templars was not such a good idea after all."

Azrael's musings took on a hateful air. _And where is the elf in all this?_ _The Crow—that Zev—_

"Enough—he is not a part of this," I all but yelled—before catching myself. If any of the templars heard me talking to myself as if possessed—I would be executed immediately. Gah.

_He loves you, yes?_ _And yet, in the end…_ Azrael's maliciousness knew no bounds. I found my hands clenched into fists, trembling slightly with an energy that flooded my veins.

_Shut up._

_Make me,__ Celeste._ This was when I lost consciousness. He had caught me thoroughly with his ploy to quicken my anger, causing me to lose control.

xOxOx

I opened my eyes to take in the Fade. The ethereal quality of the air and the surroundings taunted my very being. _I_ felt unreal in a place like this. Limbo. Akimbo. Lost. I had nothing to gauge my location, not when the landmarks were all the same spiky protrusions—wandering this place will take an eternity and more. _He_ stood before me now, obsidian eyes agleam with just the hint of the flames.

"Why am I here?" This was bad. My body was left unprotected—in a cell. Where templars were sure to check on; given enough time. They would find a lifeless creature that had entered the Fade without the aid of lyrium. _Andraste's flaming—_

Azrael's simple reply befuddled me. "A tour, to remind you of the kind of mage you are."

"I am a Fade-walker." This I said as if I was in a class with the Enchanters—something I vaguely remembered, but barely knew anything about the concepts that made it real.

"Do you even know what _that_ entails?" Mocking words, slowly uttered. This was insane. I had to get back, soon.

"I can traverse the Fade?" The anxiety within me only grew as I looked up at that huge figure—composed of the darkest substances possible. His form was the stuff of nightmares, crystallized into a form that resembled rock. Moving, fluid rock that wielded an immense power. Power that I had been lent, power I had access to. A strange and somewhat horrifying thought.

"More than that. You can communicate _through_ the Fade." He turned and strode away, and I had no choice but to follow. We passed doors, entrances, arches that led to shadows, structures which were inaccessible, taunting mirages in the distance. There was an undercurrent of a faint moaning. It sounded like a particularly depressed wind, but there was no wind in a place like this.

The 'doors' were imagined; the portals were nothing more than transports that existed in a metaphysical reality which had could not be adequately described in words. The illusory representations of 'doors' helped bridge this surreal environment and its various unspoken rules—they all led to wherever I wanted to go. Wherever I needed to go.

He finally chose a 'door', standing to its left, indicating it with a flourish.

"Where does that open to?" I queried, even though I already knew the answer. Daylen. It had to be.

The demon shrugged. "You should contact your friend—telling him what you know."

"Why?" I did not know the reason for this. Just what was Azrael's plan?

"So that you do not leave things… unfinished." Grimness, coming from a Pride demon, is thoroughly chilling. Great. Even he thought we were going to die.

The abrupt laughter taunted, and that terrible musing continued. "Not die. Just… _indisposed_. Possibly _hunted_ for being a maleficar. However, the place _will_ burn with everyone in it if you so wish." The delicate stresses on those choice words were not comforting.

I only shook my head, and entered. No point putting it off, since we were already here. I pushed open the door, and entered, hoping that my sudden appearance would not startle my friend too much. It had been awhile.

xOxOx

**Daylen**

Staring at the letter in front of me, I was confused. These inane symbols. I hated learning them, even if they were necessary to write the blasted missives. Epistolary madness, these Grey Wardens had created with their atrocious writing. The squiggles and the swirls of them made my head hurt—far more than Kiera's own scribbles ever did (and she did have the oddest swooping scrawls at times). I suddenly wished she were here, if only to make sense of these horrible things. A code within a code within a code.

This was when I made sense of the signature at the bottom. It was hers. No wonder. Argh.

Weisshaupt was living up to its reputation—everyone seemed in awe of the mostly absent First Warden, who terrified the living daylights out of me. He was large (as many of the men here were), and morose. Every word that fell from his lips felt like an order—and the first was to train me in the Art of reading and writing in this infernal script. He did not care for the politics regarding the other nations, but was always pondering on the Anderfels'. Just as well—I was expecting quite the row over what had transpired in Ferelden. Kiera and I had meddled in almost everything. The dwarves and their King, Ferelden's own Liege, even the Landsmeet had been decided by a Grey Warden.

At least I had a chamber to myself; a place where I would not be pestered by more Wardens who wished to know more about the Blight and the Archdemon. I did not care to relive that. At all. I flopped back on the bed—its huge frame, voluminous covers and the roaring fire was quite the relief in the biting cold of the region.

Right now, I needed to rest my eyes.

A faint sound forced me awake again. I thought I heard a chuckle. And a well-known murmur of syllables.

_Daylen._

Sitting up, I peered around. And there she was, in the flesh, Kiera.

"What in the Maker?" I choked, staring at the figure that was at once familiar, yet impossible.

Oddly enough, she peered around at herself. "Pretty sure I look the same. I think."

"How—what—why—" I sputtered. This had to be a dream. Or a nightmare. Very likely the latter.

"Long story. You might want to lie down first."

xOxOx

**Zevran**

The three of us returned to the Argento, soaking wet, but our drenched garnered no more stares than the usual disinterested glances. There seemed to be far fewer people than usual. Emiliana and Lazarus were seated at a table, together —I had not thought that they knew the other. My _bella_ was conspicuously missing. Perhaps she was exhausted from her exertions the previous night—expanding so much magic in that short amount of time had to be taking a toll somehow. The elves I introduced to Emiliana, who had seemed most distracted by my appearance, before _she_ practically fled, ushering them down into the cellar. When I moved to follow, a hand gripped my injured arm, dragging a hiss from my lips. Lazarus was surprisingly strong, despite his age.

"What is it, Lazarus?" I gritted my teeth, trying to appear unconcerned. My _bella_ could heal this without even thinking too hard.

The man gestured, and still he tugged at my wounded limb. "Sit."

I sat, relieved that he had finally released that iron-grip. The wound seemed to have reopened again.

"First of all, I apologise." When those words were uttered, I found myself baffled. A growing realization made all of my suspicions clear—especially when he continued speaking.

"She—has been taken." I could not help myself. I stood, understanding those four words as the betrayal they suggested.

"By whom?" I felt my words—my voice tinged itself with the beginnings of frost. My heartbeat seemed to slow, my breathing barely noticeable. In my mind, however, a whirl of images presented itself. A roar was in my ears. I could not think. The confusion was gone. What took its place was an unspeakable rage. My fingers seemed to have unconsciously found their way to my blades once more.

Lazarus seemed to have noticed this change in my demeanour. His voice became quiet, and he watched me carefully. "Not the Crows, I assure you. Templars." Of course._ Braska_. He said it like that was a better option. It was not, by far.

"In all fairness then, it is not your fault. We did not tell you that she was a mage." I turned to leave. The Circle of Magi would require a most rapid journey on foot. The roofs would be impossible to traverse amid this still-crashing storm.

"Actually, I have known." The man continued to infuriate me with his composed air. His words were surprising, but did nothing to assuage the hollow feeling in my chest. The one…signifier of my existence, that everything I did had a purpose. She made me feel irreplaceable. As was she—to me.

"Then it is a wonder—how calm you are, when she is _there_, surrounded by templars eager to _blame_ her for previous night's fiasco—" I struggled with my temper again—as I never had before. My _bella_ was in danger, and the man who remained seated in front of me seemed overly serene.

He rose from his seat, and his manner became placating. "The Knight-Captain… is my son. He will ensure that nothing untoward will happen to her. At least until…"

"Until what?" I snapped. "Until they rule her _maleficar_ and _execute_ her?" This man was not going to stop me from saving her.

He remained stoic although his face reddened slightly, blocking my exit with crossed arms. "Until… my wife returns on the morrow." He seemed determined; I have to give him that. But he was by far, not fast enough. I faked with an obvious swipe to his head— which he blocked— leaving his lower body unguarded to the swift kick to his ankles.

He was soon lying on the floor, dazed; and the pub fell into a hushed silence. I did not regret hitting my gracious host one whit.

xOxOx

_There were several clicks in the lock, and the door swung open. The figures that had crept into the room belonged to no plated templar, however. Hooded forms, smallish forms had entered. Gripping small weapons that no doubt meant harm. Azrael did not think, He simply acted, taking control of the shell which had lain on the bed, almost as if asleep—springing upon the assassins with a blinding speed. He made use of their surprise (and weapons), twisting one dagger in the guts of one and opening the throat of another before overpowering the third with a hard shove._

_No words were exchanged, but the blood that now formed puddles on the room's floor were sufficient. He bent the final man's mind to His will—gleaning those final thoughts with barely a pause, choking the last breath from the human's throat, almost gently._

_Azrael found a key on one of the bodies—He forgot which; taking great care to leave the spatter of blood and the bodies untouched. The employer of these unfortunate people had evidently paid off someone amongst the templars. Curiouser and curiouser._

_Climbing back onto the bed, He posed, curling up, assuming the foetal position—yet remaining in full view of the open door. Azrael smiled as a thought struck Him._

_Oh the Dragon was going to suffer—this, He promised._

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><p>P.S.: That's it for now. I have to get back to studying. Thanks for reading! :D (Oh. Please review?)<p> 


	15. Chapter 14: Crow

A/N: So… Chapter 14. Thanks for subscribing, favoriting, reviewing and of course, reading!

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><p><strong>Chapter 14: Crow<strong>

There was no denying it. I was wet to my skin— but I felt nothing, only the vague dampness of the leather, blinking away raindrops as I moved. I could not leave Kiera. Not to the mercies of the templars. She would not survive another encounter with them, alone. Thankfully, the heinous weather kept everyone indoors, and I stepped, on puddles and cobblestones alike—the night will not keep me from her. I came to a halt when I was within sight of the compound—the Antivan Circle of Magi. It was only then that I realized the rain had stopped, and the skies were clear. No clouds blocked the rays from the moon, and this light illuminated all in the streets; settling a glow on the walls that fenced the grand compound. This was my destination.

I met a solitary templar, who seemed to have been conversing with the night watch. He held a lantern, blond hair and dark circles under his eyes deepening in the shadow. The death-cart rolled away, the squeak of its wheels almost drowned by the puddles that were two inches deep—its owners were men with jaundiced skin and red-rimmed eyes. These were the untouchables—men who carted off the numerous bodies left behind during duels, battles—the results of assassinations—they dealt with them all. My attentions remained with the templar. The man seemed perplexed, furrowing his thick brows in the steady light casted by the lifted oil lamp.

I approached him, having never intended to hide from the man, who would no doubt have the information I needed. He would know about Kiera. Those bodies… were Crows— I was sure of it. The man's widened grey eyes only took in my leather armor—my injured arm, my _ears_, forming his own conclusions as I drew near.

The voice I heard was hoarse, despairing, and he muttered nervously. "Another Crow? And an injured one, no less. Lord Ulisse cannot keep underestimating the mage— she slaughtered the last three with their _own_ weapons."

"It appears that I am late, then." It was indeed important to sell the lie which the man had created for himself. I tried to look unconcerned—even my arm had stopped throbbing.

"No—really?" The templar sighed as he shook his head, motioning me to follow with a casual wave. And yet, just as I stepped through the gates behind him, the man grabbed my arm most viciously, hissing in my left ear.

"The Knight-Captain is already suspicious. Do not get caught, elf. Kill the witch on sight, even if she looks like a well-paid whore." This last word sealed the man's fate.

My dagger found its way to the weaker of his armor, his chainmail skirt, tearing fabric, links and flesh aside—ripping whatever he called his _manhood_ apart, separating the tender flesh from bone. No one would _ever_ speak of her in that manner. Standing over the mewling human, I felt a sneer curl on my lips as I yanked the dagger free, cleaning the blade of his blood on the same coloured cloth.

Leaning down, my voice was a whisper. "Let this be a lesson to you, Templar. I will not suffer insults to _her_." The man whimpered in the glowing surroundings, the lantern broke when he fell and was losing what fuel it had— the oil seeping quickly across the still-damp ground. A small bonfire was lit, and the flames danced, reminding me of my quest.

A shape loomed over us, but I only saw the sheer bulk of the person reflected by the terror in the prone templar's eyes. A sharp pain, and my limbs lost their strength—all I saw was pure black.

xOxOx

_They found her, curled up on the bed, trembling slightly amidst the sudden intrusion of so many male bodies. The Knight-Captain was horrified, but this manifested in his abrupt orders, demanding that the bodies be removed immediately. To have such chaos amongst those he led—this did not bode well. At least it had been a unanimous agreement—that Kiera had indeed killed them, and without the use of magic. It was put down as a regrettable oversight, and they felt all but emasculated when she began shrinking away from them when they approached to escort her elsewhere. She only responded to the Knight-Captain, taking his hand with a hesitant air._

_He tried to soothe her nerves, but fear still burned in her amber eyes._

_A clamour rose as she descended the stairs—men who wanted to take her away—back to the hole they called the Pit. Or worse, execution. Very likely the latter._

_The whiteness of their armour was blinding. Orlesians and their uniforms—antagonistic even to those of the same Order—none of the Antivan templars, with their thin, long blades and richly embroidered cloths, cared for their presence._

_The girl was led to a cell, dingy and small in comparison to the one she had left, but very much safer, it was mentioned, than the furthest tower several stories high. She was content to remain silent, watching the scene, from beneath her long, damp lashes._

_She looked the epitome of womanhood, and very deserving of the treatment one would extend to a lady._

_"It is she. Hand her over." Came the call. Pascal was sparing nothing in his bid for her— all reserve was gone. The veins on his pale marble neck bulging unbecomingly as Pascal lunged in her direction, but they were separated by the Knight-Captain, who stared him down impressively. There was definitely a growing tension between the Antivans and their Orlesian counterparts._

_The Knight-Captain looked over the milling rabble of white-armoured men, before replying in a tone one usually used with servants. "Come back at mid-day."_

_The incredulity spread, sweeping waves of discontent through the armoured men. Outrage was soon to erupt. Pascal blustered, but failed to keep the anger hidden in his voice, and a curse slipped out. The Knight-Captain's demeanour stiffened and grimness pervaded, — voicing cool words that ended any argument. The girl was certain that this was why he was a Captain despite his youth—the man was undoubtedly very strong-willed. _

_"You are here uninvited. Hence, we will attend to your… queries when we are able. Mid-day on the morrow." The yawns coming from the local templars were not in least bit realistic, but it was sufficient— the girl noted. It truly was getting late. Too late for anything official, apparently. The Orlesians had no other option, but to head into the city-quarters, in search of their own lodgings. Some of the Antivans chuckled as their guests finally left, knowing that there was much to dislike about the intruding templars. These men would very likely be fleeced for their beds tonight._

_The Knight-Captain was now the only one left in the prison. He had sent away all others—he was going to keep an eye on her himself._

_His name was Vincentio. And he hoped that she was feeling better. The girl smiled wanly, playing the part of a veritable victim with trembling movements and hesitant replies._

xOxOx

The young boy played, weaving amongst the men who had come, as usual, to 'visit' the ladies. He knew what this entailed—he was not foolish. Some had plied him with sweets, which he was taught to refuse politely, teasing and childishly—it would not do to anger any of them, not when there was business to be had. Still, he did not like how some of these men eyed him, glints in their enthralled eyes. Zevran knew that he was different, an oddity, and hence, one of value in the house. An attraction, of sorts. Many would pay good gold to be alone with him—he was ridiculously handsome.

And so he did as he was taught, stepping between the men and women, all tender gestures and golden eyes, smiles and laughs elicited without much fuss. He was a golden child, marked by his brilliantly coloured hair, destined to bring the ladies wealth and happiness—or so he was told. It was not a bad lot in life.

They told him a story, when he asked about his mother—giving him trinkets— gloves, as proof. And she was all he could think of, for days; the fact that she had been Dalish. An elf unbound by the city. And then she ran off for love. The man died, saddling her in debt, forcing her into prostitution.

She who brought him into the world, Zevran never knew. And then _she_ died, leaving him with the ladies. All he had left of her were _gloves_. Soft, leather, Dalish gloves.

For an elf-child with no mother, Zevran had it all. A warm bed— and a family, of sorts. He knew no more beyond the sordid house. And so, he had no friends his age—no child would play in the streets they lived. It was dangerous. All matter and beings were exchangeable. He was lucky. The ladies would not give him up for mere currency. He was loved. He felt loved, down to the very tips of his shining golden hair.

All that changed when the Crows came for him. It was a golden opportunity—they said. The Crows were feared, they had power. No one would dare '_palpeggiare'_ an assassin. And he would be the best. He would be their future. He had a life, beyond the whorehouse, and he would rise, amongst those who struck terror into his enemies.

He fell in love. Or what had passed for it. He was an assassin. As was she. And he let her die, thinking himself betrayed. She breathed her last, begging— and her last words were his name. Others had told him, unfazed by the loss of life—that he was worth nothing. All were replaceable, none were unique, especially not them— they were mere weapons. Sneered in his face, the adage struck home;

_All that glitters is not gold._

He was rendered worthless.

And now—months later— there was… Kiera. She had let him live when he had sought his death at her hands, and this, he repaid in kind with the Archdemon. It had been worth it.

And this was where they stopped, these images from the past.

He remained lying on his side, staring out through the bars, searching for the figure he yearned for.

A large, plated man blocked this endeavour—stopping in front of his cell, the tips of his heavy boots entering his vision. This was the Knight-Commander, the armour he wore—shined to the point of glaring. Zevran's eyes followed the man's build—recognising the symbol of Andraste's blade that had been mirrored the night before. This was the man who had hit him, bearing the steely gaze that resembled the templar he had mutilated the previous night. They were related, familial.

"You will tell me all you know—_Crow_." The sonorous voice was filled with disgust, and when Zevran struggled upright, he knew that he was close. His treasure was close by.

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><p>P.S.: Cliff-hanger! Muahahaha—please leave a review :D<p> 


	16. Chapter 15: A Challenge

A/N: *EDIT*: I've cleared up stuff. I think.

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><p><strong>Chapter 15: A Challenge<strong>

Daylen

Kiera seemed the same, but I could tell that she wasn't. For one, she kept looking over her shoulder to peer at something, pausing mid-narrative, as if listening to someone else. Something else. The sight she made, sitting cross-legged on the linen sheets of the bed, reminded me of before. At the Tower—we had spent so many nights up, together. Just like this, just talking.

But that had been a really long time ago. Nostalgia was hitting me hard.

Sten had surprised me with his willingness to follow her everywhere. Even underground. I could just imagine the hulking figure, almost brushing the top of the crudely-made caverns; keeping by her side amidst so much _trouble_.

"Go on…" I prompted, hoping she would continue her stories despite these distractions. She had stopped at a particularly crucial point regarding darkspawn.

"Ah. Yes. Where was I?"

"Ogre."

"Right. So… it talked. Something about females."

I laughed. This was crazy. First, the blatant use (and admittance, one might add) of blood magic, now the existence of talking darkspawn? She had definitely gone slightly round the bend since I saw her last.

"You're joking."

But she had blanked again, and I stared as her pupils contracted—widening eyes agape at something over my shoulder. I did not expect the sudden scramble on the mattress, Kiera scooting behind my back, before shoving me off the bed with no ceremony whatsoever. This was my room. Oddly enough, the fall did not hurt as much as I thought it would. Then, it made sense. This _was_ a dream.

A hissed dialogue was heard.

_What are you doing here—if he sees you—_

And a chuckle. A long, low murmur of sound that had haunted me earlier.

_So what if he sees? He knows that you use blood magic—_

_But—you—_

_I am what I am. If he is your friend as you believe he is—_

I stood up, staggering against the wooden posts, and found myself staring an odd-looking man. There was nothing remarkable about his face, but those eyes. They burned with a black flame, and an aura of red glowed around him. He was also impossibly tall.

_Oh. Hello._ The man-thing splayed its fingers in a greeting, meeting my gaze. I knew what he was. It was a demon.

"Kiera—" I began, choking out that single word with much difficulty. Blood magic I accepted—it was merely a means to an end, and I trusted her to choose her fights carefully— but a demon! She knew the risks—possession—massive counts of death—and not to mention— Templars. I could not believe it. And yet, here she was, standing next to— _it_—like it was the _most Perfectly Normal Thing In THE– _

A single word stopped me in my train of worried (and albeit— a tad crazed) thoughts. "Daylen."

She was serious, again. Not a drop of emotion was uttered in those two syllables.

"Trust me." And I did. Unquestioningly. And there was a price to pay for such blind faith, I suspected.

She then left with him—it— as that infuriating mirth still trailed in their wake. Just what was so funny?

xOxOx

"So… you were originally from the Orlesian Circle, yes?" I nodded to this. These Antivan templars were interesting, to say the least. The Knight-Captain was winking furiously at me, with his back to the Orlesians. Perhaps this was a signal for me to play along. And so I did.

"But you escaped." His voice was flat, and carefully so; his green eyes peering over the large sheaf of papers.

I was trying not to smile. "Yes."

"See? This is your proof! You will hand her over to us now. We will take the _maleficar_ back to Orlais, where she will be dealt with. Harshly." I could see the spittle fly from his perfectly red lips from here—Pascal was definitely not in complete control of himself. And this time, was not entirely my fault. Vincentio definitely had his father's sense of humor.

The Antivan templar straightened up, turned and glared at poor Pascal. "Unlike your _incompetent_ Order, we do have _protocol_ with which we must proceed before _any_ action is taken."

Orlesian swears were heard, but the hilarious interview continued.

"So, could you spell your name for me again, my dear?"

"K… I… E…"

His mild voice had to be severely grating to everyone else. I had to bite my tongue to keep from sniggering. "Was that K-e-i?"

Angry sounds erupted from the helmeted templars who could not believe that this was actually taking place. I think Pascal punched a stone wall, and his hand was probably now feeling the brunt of that rage. I could have healed that—if my hands weren't shackled by these anti-magic chains. I blamed Azrael for these. In his haste to get me, we left a distinct trail of magic that no templar worth his salt could ignore.

I struggled to keep my face straight, and I hoped I looked somewhat penitent. "K-i-e-r-a."

"I am so sorry to have inconvenienced you, Kiera. We hope your quarters are… satisfactory?" Vincentio merely appeared grim, no doubt referring to the place where I had been locked, a dark and rather cramped space, with hay as a bed.

I nodded. The cell I understood—no Order would blatantly show any kindness to mages (especially those suspected of grand scale arson) in front of others. I was quite glad that _it_ at least, was clean. As a bonus, there was no angry templar who stood, brooding over every breath I took, nor was I restrained beyond the cold, iron chains. The Antivans were surprisingly civil. One might call them lenient, even. Scratch that—_extremely_ lenient. Even Greagoir would have a fit.

Azrael had a plan—to cause confusion amongst the Orlesian ranks; many of whom were barely twenty, like their leader. _Tender age makes one always doubtful of the most beautiful of objects._ I swear, those were His exact words. I batted my long golden lashes, perching pitifully on the bed of hay, mussing up my long glittering hair.

Almost immediately, a voice muttered. "_Capitane_."

Pascal glared at the offender, before sneering. I could read his lips from here, even if I had not heard his replying hiss—so vehement was that whisper in Orlesain.

_She is a blood whore. This is what she does. Whoring._

But the threads of discontent had spread, the longer I remained like a bird— like the precious nightingale that signified the Orlesian Imperial Court—it would not take much for these men to lower their guard. Pascal's unprofessional conduct was not helping things.

A heart-achingly beautiful maiden, no longer seen as a mere mage. My heritage was indeed the greatest source of power—many in Orlais had remained loyal to the old guard. This was the way to freedom. My freedom, in exchange for their gullibility.

It was then that I knew; Azrael's influence was corrupting me even further. Too bad that all I cared about now was getting out. Finding Zevran. I would run for the rest of my life if I could. I had something to live for, now.

xOxOx

"Tell you all I know? You mean the price of ale in the city? Or perhaps the amount one would need to...visit the beautiful men and ladies of the pleasure quarters? Or would you rather know the gold that would be paid out upon the death of a targeted nuisance? Hypothetically speaking, of course."

Not a sliver of emotion showed on the man's masculine features. The Knight-Commander was a very stern being. "Do you find this amusing?"

"Not in the least, but one can tell you that it is now that syntax and context are particularly important."

A ripple of anger crossed the man's face. His hand trailed to the sword that was hung on his hip—no doubt just itching for the moment he could stab me. My inane banter was apparently getting the better of him. "Enough. What is your relationship with the Orlesian mage?"

I allowed a shrug. "Orlesian? I do believe that I was not told that she's a foreigner. Tell you what, why don't you leave me in the same quarters with this mage, and I will complete my objective, and we'll both be out of your luscious head of manly, tousled hair."

The man was silent, all of a sudden, unreadable. He reminded one of a certain ineffectual _qunari_. I had not forgotten my _bella's_ unwillingness to talk about Seheron.

"And what about that templar you injured?" A quiet sort of question, almost…musing. Odd.

"Ah… that was regrettable. He should learn not to offend an assassin." The Crows have never tolerated insults. One rarely found a survivor who could testify to the affront.

The Knight-Commander sniffed. "Somehow, I do not doubt that."

"So you will let me finish the mission, yes?" So close.

"No. The Orlesians have already laid claim to her. Your master will not miss her absence, for she will be escorted past our borders by tonight."

"The… Orlesians? Ah." I tried to appear unconcerned, but the vestiges of adrenaline was beginning to take control of my limbs.

"As for you, if you are who you claim to be—Ulisse will not miss you, either. You have failed your mission quite spectacularly."

"You would… kill a Crow?" This was new. It appeared that even the templars were distancing themselves from the guild. Perhaps Ulisse and his reign were weakening in their hold on all things Antivan. Whether this was a good thing, however, remained to be seen.

"It will not take long. I do suspect that the punishment your master has in store for you will be very much harsher—and there is that debt which you owe. The templar you harmed, his family demands… Restitution."

"His family? You, perhaps?"

A smile curled on the man's otherwise humourless face. "Does it matter? I have no reason to release you, your death will he blamed on the Orlesian maleficar." Saying thus, he turned and walked away, his steel boots creating hollow echoes with each step. Luckily for me, they have not divested me of the pins I always hide in my braids. Lockpicking was not exactly a favourite of mine—but it sufficed in situations like this. Kiera.

xOxOx

I leaned my head against the cold stone of the wall, feeling the shifting of feeling among the Orlesians. Their sympathy for a pretty mage was undeniably winning them over. What was it that made men _so_ predictable?

The sudden clearing of a throat sparked all of them to attention.

The Knight-Captain's ironic grin faded as he too, took in the Commander's abrupt entry. I felt the man's cutting gaze as he judged the Orlesians incompetent, the deepening frown as he found the source of their distraction. Me.

"Release her to them." Those words truly chilled my heart—a veritable death sentence.

"But Commander—"

"Do as I say. We have no cause to bar fellow templars from taking a mage they claim as their own; especially since they have displayed such ability in having tracked her from such a long distance, from their _very efficient_ nation." The sardonic emphasis was not lost on me, or the templars. They looked decidedly sheepish.

"But…" Vincentio seemed to search for the right words to say— the right excuse, trying to stall this turn of events. "But aren't we investigating the fire?"

"If she is wanted for more heinous crimes in Orlais, I see no point in claiming her as our solitary prize. Mages which are nuisances have to be punished accordingly."

I did not expect the Knight-Commander's attentions to be directed at me quite so… well…directly. I was content to remain undetected by the large, armoured men. I was trying to focus.

"What say you, mage?" For a moment, I thought I saw pity in the Knight-Commander's expression. He reminded one of a certain _arishok_. But I was wrong. There was nothing more he wished to do than to be rid of me. And my ilk. My 'countrymen'.

Thus, there was no point in continuing to struggle. I had no other argument—neither did Azrael. "Does it matter?"

"True." A smile curled on the Knight-Commander's thin lips, before he motioned for another to unlock the door to my cell. Vincentio made a protesting sound, and looked quite frustrated. Our little chat had been… Interesting, to say the least. He was almost as nice as Marc had been. Perhaps it was naivety that had resulted in his continued stalling.

"And I expect you to obey, despite your inclinations, Vincentio. Whoever she is is none of our Circle's concern. If she is valuable to the Orlesians to have garnered a contingent in her _honour_, then so be it."

The papers were duly signed, sealed and delivered into Pascal's eager hands. And I was his. In Orlesian hands, once more.

_So this is it—there is no escape._ I steeled myself mentally. But as usual, Azrael seemed too calm.

_Oh, I'm afraid there is. Patience is a virtue, my lovely. First, we determine if your phylactery is nearby. If it is, we will take it, by force. Next, a mysterious fire will break out as soon as we're away from the Antivan templars, and this time, it will leave none of the Orlesians alive._

xOxOx

I had almost gotten free—the locks do not appear to have been enchanted, but these defeated my skill, still. My arm was still whingeing, but it was a dull sort of ache, the blood having dried into a black husk on the stained bandages. It did not stop me from twisting the pins ever so slightly, trying not to break the thin metal; now, I felt a faint trembling in my already weakened arm.

A figure passed my bars, surrounded by ranks of men, but all I saw was her brilliance, shining from between gaps of her captors. I stared, unable to make a sound. Where was she going? Why was she going? For a long moment, my mind refused to process—so shocked I was to see her— and the pins fell, useless, to the floor. The soft tinkle these made turned her head— though she could not possibly have heard them above the stamping march of platemail. We shared a long look, and that familiar twinkle crept back into her eyes; duly mirrored in mine.

Her next movements were _suicidal_, having reached down, drawing the blades of the templars on either side of her, ducking and slipping out past the astonished men, coming to a stop in front of my cell, brandishing weapons in front of her, jangling the chains that circled her wrists.

"I have no qualms about smiting you—or killing you, for that matter." Said the Knight-Commander as he approached, drawing his own double-handed sword. The other templars seemed to be speechless at her hopeless actions.

My _bella_ laughed gently. "I know. But I have a request— allow me to heal the elf, and I will leave in absolute surrender. "

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><p>P.S.: And then, I'll be studying hard. So I most likely won't update till like the 30th (final day of exams). But, as you've no doubt noticed, this is a guideline my muse does not follow. Let's just see how it goes okay? Thanks again!<p> 


	17. Chapter 16: Heal

A/N: Yes, I'm aware that I have to study for the exams. And that this bit on templars is getting tedious. I promise we'll get to the reunion soon- Thanks for reading! :D

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><p><strong>Chapter 16: Healing<strong>

**Kiera**

It was a standoff. The Orlesians did nothing, said nothing. Stuck gaping, I presume. Pascal had reached for his crossbow—out of pure habit of meeting me with unsheathed blades. I supposed that I deserved that, from him. Hugues had been…Pascal's everything.

A sharp word elicited from the Kight-Commander's lips. "No."

"What, you're afraid that I'll use destructive primal magic on twelve hulking, armored, armed templars when you undo the chains?" I smirked, meeting those iron-grey eyes without flinching. Zevran was injured—badly. Even from this distance, I could tell that the wound on his shoulder was festering.

"Lower the swords."

I did not lower the blades, although in truth, my arms were starting to tire. These were some heavy things.

"No."

"You would die for him? An _assassin_ _elf_?" I heard a derisive snort in that voice. He had no love for the Crows, I presume. And yet, his words provided more fodder for use.

"My. Quite the racist, aren't you?" I felt the impish smirk widen, but a flash of heat coursed through my veins, regardless of what I affected in my comparatively slack body language. If we were going to duel…

The look on his face darkened, and a sharp jut of the man's chin jolted a nearby templar out of a stun, and I smiled, unable to help myself. _By the Maker_—the Knight-Commander was a _softie_. I think.

Vincentio unshackled my hands, leading me into the cell. How odd that he seemed overprotective. The man then blocked my view of Zevran, forcing me to look into his eyes, searching for something within.

"He is a Crow. Same as those you—_defended_ yourself against—yesterday."

I raised an eyebrow, wishing I could shove him aside. He was in my way. "Your point being?"

"Why would you go to so much trouble to save one of those who would _kill_ you for _gold_?" The irritation in his voice was heard quite clearly.

I ignored him, stepping around his bulk, kneeling before Zevran, gently unbinding the crusty bandages. The smell coming from his arm was simply awful—the flesh would definitely not heal well on its own. I was not an expert like Wynne on healing, but this… the damage would likely be irreparable, given more time untended.

"I need clean cloths." There was a moment where none of the templars knew what to do; to take orders from a mage, or to stand around looking like pretty statues. Even Vincentio appeared to be at a loss. It was then, when one of the Orlesian templars proffered a small bundle through the bars.

"I… carry the medical supplies in our contingent. Here." Aww. How cute.

**Zevran**

"This will hurt." She whispered, before touching my arm, tenderly undoing the hastily-wrapped linens. Her long golden waves fell forward as she worked; and the faint fragrance wafting around her was maddening—intoxicating. Here she was, so close and I— and we were surrounded by templars.

Like having an audience has ever stopped me in my advances. "Ah, you do know the right things to say to tempt me."

I saw the familiar grin start to form, even under the watchful glares of so many armored men. It was still, very arousing.

"You enjoy pain? Good to know." The corners of her mouth lifted, trying not to reveal her mirth.

The sting that I felt when she carefully cleaned the wound kept me from speaking. It would not do to let her hear the wavers in my voice. Still, I let out a hiss when blue flames blanched my skin; the heat eating away the decaying flesh—_the searing feeling_— my pained expression was sending tremors through the skittish templars again. A single glance from the Knight-Commander silenced them again—he was _not_ all bad temper and no fun, it seemed. This was when I felt _somewhat_ tender towards my fellow countryman in front of the Orlesians.

Kiera began the soothing spells, and the aches ebbed as I watched the flesh knit and heal—a miracle only performed by mages. Undoubtedly, such healing was one of the reasons why the Antivan Circle had their lush grounds; they had many _appreciative_ benefactors, and not all of them were related to the Antivan Crows.

Her touch soon left me, and I raised the arm, now good-as-new— moving to caress her cheek. "I must thank you for your…services. I would have liked to show my _appreciation_, if not for your wonderfully stern escorts." I had hoped that we had sufficiently embarrassed the lot of them, but to no avail. If anything, their mood had only been somewhat… riled by that gesture.

"What can I say—I only heal the _ridiculously handsome_." She winked as she cleaned the blood off my skin, fingering the rip in my armor with some worry.

An unbridled chuckle escaped from my lips, and agitation spread through the templars.

"Are you quite done—mage?" The Knight-Commander had had enough. He had pinched the space between his eyes, looking quite exasperated. I was just surprised that no one—with the exception of Lazarus's scion— had taken more offense to our banter.

"Verily."

**Kiera**

Slipping the key into Zevran's hands, I swept out of the cell in a single movement, hopefully before anyone had noticed what I had done. I gathered that _he_ knew what to do with that—the guards on duty were now… most distracted. All of them appeared to be watching my movements, though not plainly leaving their posts; all were staring at the _glorious_ group sent by the Holy Divine herself. I was apparently deemed some kind of a dangerous mage, a rare occurrence in Antiva.

We advanced across the yard, the blinding-white troop of men surrounding me almost as soon as the rays from the midday sun did. They were now rather paranoid of failure, having witnessed my being able to bear arms, taken from their very sides in an unguarded moment. Not that it mattered.

I could still feel Azrael's bubbling essence, far beneath my skin, his agitation oddly enough, making my flesh crawl. He was preparing for a large battle; but hid these movements carefully, all but disappearing when we came upon the horses. He didn't like the equine animals; their heightened senses had been able to discern the faintest of magic that came from the Fade. This sensitivity makes them stamp and rear up in a panicked rage at the slightest whiff, though it seemed that the Chantry has not yet made _that_ connection. I loved horses, but they had no love for me. Demons could frighten the poor things from even fifty feet away—this, we had measured when I was in the Orlesian order.

I wasn't allowed near the stables for quite a while—at least, until Cerise and I had managed to seal Azrael, binding him with metaphysical chains to the innermost depths of my… essence. But that was a story for another time.

Pascal motioned me over, determined that I would ride with him. Such haste, from a man who would no doubt enjoy making me suffer the journey overland on foot. Something was definitely up with the Orlesians. Their anxiety showed in their obvious need to leave as soon as they could, yet still, they tried— to portray a veneer of calm— all of this was intriguing.

To my shock, I was handed very gently up a horse, by a templar who had, till now, refused to remove his helm despite the Antivan humidity. The gleaming eyes shining through the slits held none of the cold fury that Pascal reserved for the both of us; and I saw an odd blue glitter that strove to tell me something, something evidently quite important, for him to have risked Pascal's mean spirits.

The seven men mounted their rides after their youthful leader did, almost in formation, in veritable single-mindedness, movements practiced and sure. The mood had changed, but I was sure that Pascal had not noticed. There was something akin to the beginnings of mutiny. Something that I felt intensely.

The humming seemed to continue, though the animals reacted not. It was most distracting.

The horses cantered towards the gleaming iron gates with the intricate metalwork, whose single guardsman found it apt—at that moment— to lose his keys, and I felt the tremble of rage in the hands that held the reins of my ride. I hoped, for _his_ sake, that the gates would open soon, and for the universe to stop picking on poor Pascal. He was likely not going to survive much more of this genuinely coincidental, psychological torture. Not that he would live for much longer. I needed to escape, and Azrael was not one to leave survivors.

xOxOx

**Zevran**  
>The key I looked at, a small, brass thing, perhaps one that would fit the lock to my cell. However did Kiera even get a hold of this? Perhaps she had taken it off the Crows who had attacked her, perhaps even from a very sympathetic templar. In any case, it was a remarkable piece of luck.<p>

The men who were supposed to be in charge of my incarceration had left their posts, following the proceedings regarding my _bella_ like the fishwives they resembled, gossiping about her demeanour, the Orlesian templars, and the supposed crimes she was guilty for. They had seemed quite in awe.

The key fit the lock perfectly, and the well-oiled hinges of the cell door made not a sound as it swung outwards. The templars turned a fraction too late, and I had already armed myself.

_The Knight-Commander will be back shortly, but I'd rather take my chances with the Crows. The man's insane to want to go against The Dragon._

The two men stepped aside, averting their gaze as I dashed out the dungeon. But all I got to see were the backs of the galloping horses, leaving the grounds. My _bella _was still amongst them. I had to hurry.

The sun overhead was again covered by thick clouds; shadows covered my path, shielding me from more gazes as the templars ushered the class of children back indoors. A storm was brewing, in the distance. The occasional flash of lightning lit up in the distance, and then the winds began to blow. I had finally reached the gate, when it opened to allow entry to another large troop of armed and heavily-armoured people. The griffons on their platemail do look somewhat familiar.

I slipped behind them, in hopes that their numbers would hide my escape. "We understand that you have a Grey Warden in your custody." This came from a slight, hooded figure in some heavy leather, very evidently—a woman.


	18. Chapter 17: The Ensuing Storm

A/N: A short teaser before my exam later in about 6 hours. Bleah. Also, I just realized that I had to rework stuff in Perpective; I've finally read the stuff in Dragon Age 2 and to my chagrin, I find out that Celene _isn't_ Emperor Florian's child. So that takes precedence on my to-do list when I get back today—will have to rewrite quite a bit, but the changes won't affect much of the storyline.

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><p>That being said—contest begins:<strong> pmleave a review of what you think is up with the Orlesian templars**; closest answer to the one I have in mind will win the contest :D

The prize I offer is one chapter of the winner's choice, written from the perspective of _any_ character that has appeared in the Perspective series so far. Contest will be open for a week (for fairness sake), so I won't be updating Antiva till next Monday, but I promise that chapters will be written and posted on that day xD

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><p><strong>Chapter 17: The Ensuing Storm<strong>

The first drops were beginning to fall; fat splashes that sank warmth into my already cold skin. Pascal's determination to get us over the border was making him careless. He paid no mind to the other templars who were matching our speed, keeping a specific set distance despite the growing downpour. This formation was closing in, slowly. And the creeping feeling was getting worse—foreign and familiar—I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, before an unexpected smite drew my strength from me, my power diminished—snuffed out in an instant. I felt Azrael flare up within me at the excessive gesture, but it was too late. I slipped from my position (being damp and slippery from the still-falling rain), and the only thing keeping me from collapsing was Pascal's arm.

We slowed to a stop, as more of the precipitation rained down from the thunderous skies.

"_Capitaine_." The man who had caught me as I slumped from the large war horse was the same templar from before. His stern stance challenged Pascal, and I could see that neither would budge, though I felt very much the same. My knees were weak, and could barely support my own weight— it had been a long time since I last ate.

Or rode. Or being smited. But one never got used to _that_.

I was lifted cleanly off the ground, swept off my proverbial feet—before being laid against a nearby tree. I barely breathed—this sudden… infirmity was new to me. But the surge of power that now invaded my limbs was definitely recognizable. Azrael was seeking a trigger, before we unleashed havoc upon my captors. And still, we watched. Something was happening amongst the Orlesians, and it was all very interesting, to say the least.

The templar all but yanked Pascal down as he dismounted—a smug smile had formed on that boyish face. There was something every odd at work here. All the others were merely watching.

"You had no cause to do that. She attempted no magic."

"Why do you care? We can do whatever we like with her—that filthy bloodwhore."

That single punch stunned me— a heavy gauntleted fist slammed into Pascal's jaw with force enough to knock the helm off his head, surely denting more than the metal. His lifeless body then crumpled into the squelching peat with no more than small splashes, hollow metal and flesh alike. He would certainly need immediate medical attention.

_A most powerful display of force,_ Azrael commented wryly. It was certainly quite a change from the collective disdain towards mages. Not necessarily for the good. Few would hit a templar without pause. The rain was coming down harder, and coupled with the rumbling of thunder that seemed ever so near—it seemed that we were isolated, trapped in this bubble of a storm.

But that singular blow did not end the squabble between the two. Something far more sinister was planned for Pascal. I watched as the same templar drew a blade, stepping back to his fallen Captain, my eyes following the thin rivulets of clear liquid that trailed down that blade. And none stopped him.

Soon, those waters would run red.

xOxOx

The Wardens were evidently quite esteemed in the Knight-Commander's eye; they were neither dismissed nor invited further into the Circle, but were granted an audience with the imposing man right there, just within the gates.

"What is it? I wasn't aware that your… visit would grace us quite so soon." A sarcastic vibe crept into his voice, even as no one cared about the oncoming storm. I cared more that my _bella_ was very likely halfway across the hinterlands on those large animals—transporting the Orlesians more swiftly than was needed. We needed to leave, and soon.

"I'm not here for mages. Well, specifically, just the one. The girl you brought in earlier yesterday. She's a Grey Warden." The woman spoke, visibly amused. Neither of them had much love for the other, it seemed.

The Knight-Commander only seemed relieved, turning away as he called over his shoulder, "You just missed them. The Orlesians have her now, and I suggest you hurry."

Swears were heard—some rather colourful ones— I might add, but thankfully, haste was obvious with the Grey Wardens. Their movements were speedy, their horses raring to go, pawing at the ground. It was only then they noticed my presence, for I was the only figure without a handsome steed. The woman eyed me oddly, before extending her hand.

"You must be Zevran. My husband told me all about you—and he probably deserved that lovely purple shiner you left in your wake."

I knew it—she really was Kiera's approximate height and weight. It was no wonder the man had taken so much to my _bella_ the moment she stepped through the _Argento's_ doors; his wife's leathers and dress fitted my _bella_ like a glove.

To save my _bella_, we would ride with the wind.

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><p>P.S.: I hope this solves the mystery of Lazarus's wife. *grins* Now, you know what to do, yes? Thanks for reading!<p> 


	19. Chapter 18: Mercy

A/N: So I'm aware that this is late, and that I haven't fixed the issues which I had promised for Perspective, but I was neck deep in Skyrim. Still am. I'll update as soon as I can, but for now, here's the chapter you've all been waiting for. I think. Heh. Sorry for the delay, and hope you enjoy reading!

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><p><strong>Chapter 18: Mercy<strong>

The rain was certainly coming on fast, but the Grey Wardens' horses rode surely into the storm. Fine beasts, these were. But there was no time for conversation, and the water that poured down on us made it quite impossible to speak without injesting mouthfuls of the rain. Did my _bella_ really intend to go quietly with the templars? I very much doubt that. Thus, there is the problem; I did not trust Azrael to save her when she needed him/it most.

The forest's trees were are, blackened and burned; ugly vestiges of the Blights that have wreaked much destruction on the rest of Antiva. This was why Antiva City was the nation's one shining jewel –it looked to have remained untouched by the taint—its people were hardy, resourceful, and very attractive (if I do say so myself).

"She is close," the woman called back, her voice raised over the growing winds.

_Wait for me, Kiera._

xOxOx

_You want to save him? It is easier to let the fool die._

_Well… At least, I want to know what in the Maker is going on. Maybe then._

_As you wish. But don't forget your phylactery._

The lithe form raised herself, up, from her prone state. The horses shrieked and moved further away from them, almost breaking into gallop, before a swift closing of a fist brought them to a sudden standstill, wild eyes suddenly unfocused and murky. A smirk grew, and she approached the templar who stood over poor little Pascal. A warm palm touched the man's armour, so warm that _he_ surely felt it, even in the pouring rain.

A sudden swift slice, and redness bled. She had somehow managed to insert herself between the man and Pascal, lacerating her right hand in the process. She didn't even flinch, but those deep violet pupils flickered and grew larger, as if in pain.

The man was startled, and drew back the strength that held the weapon, the thin slits of his helm hiding none of his confusion. _Why was she protecting one who would sooner see her dead?_—that was the question on both their minds. She didn't know. Nor did she care. She only wanted _his_ attention.

_Celeste_. He hissed, unable to help himself. This name stirred up memories that would be better off left alone, but still she made no move. She wanted information, and this templar appeared to be her only source. Pascal was also none the wiser, and he was still unconscious, bleeding a dark pool that was promptly diluted by the rain. Her own blood trickled down her arm, dripping into the same. Each drop seemed loud, emphasized, echoing in the templar's ears—despite the storm. He was caught.

xOxOx

I saw images as the man who had stood in front of me knelt— struggled to breathe and I knew that _he_ was no templar. He was given the pure-white uniform for one especial purpose; to retrieve me from outside Orlais. He had bought his way into the Divine's own troops, inserting himself in Pascal's mission. Some noble's pocket was apparently deep enough to risk such _exposure_, all in a bid to bring me _home_. Ha. _Home_. That word disgusted me, even as it flashed through _his_ mind. My home was not in Orlais. It never was.

The templars around us now lay enthralled, caught in a haze of illusion. Frozen—which left me to question the 'not-a-templar' in peace. Blood magic had its limits, and I did not want to bleed myself dry.

"What is your purpose in all of this?" It had to be one or the other. To trap me within the Tower? Or to have me killed? Celene was not known for being merciful.

The man glared up at me, his eyes filled with blood—helm long gone when the pure force Azrael had wielded smacked full force into him.

"You are a _maleficar_." But that word was not uttered with disgust, or in the usual horrified drag. He seemed rather in awe, almost…feverish with fervour.

I watched him curiously. He was wracked with pain from that mental invasion, but still he remained sober. Perhaps I should just kill them, and be done with it. But somehow… I wanted to know.

The man gasped out his words, intent on speaking. "There are those who would wish that you return, Celeste."

My answer came out flat. "I do _not_ belong there." I did not care for the whims of the nobles who played the _Game_.

"A _particular_ august personage does not deserv—" he coughed— hacking and despairing, before he too, collapsed. I checked his pulse, and there was just the faintest beating. A murmur that would soon be followed by an endless quiet.

_We could heal him and continue this interview if you so wish, smirked Azrael._

_Yes, but I don't want to weaken myself for him. And before you say anything else—it's __my__ blood._

_True. Phylactery, next._

xOxOx

We entered the small clearing, horses coming to a stop as the riders jerked at their reins. Our own view was blocked by the sight of several horses without their riders—milling around, serenely, while the templars gazed off into the distance, seemingly lost in daydreams.

Amid that odd rabble, stood my bella, kneeling over two downed men, both of whom, were bleeding copiously. A similarly red hue had gathered in a fine mist around them all. She was otherwise so engaged with her healing, that she did not appear to have noticed us.

The Wardens dismounted, and tried to catch the attentions of the templars, to no avail. The spell that Kiera had casted on them was indeed quite strong. I hurried to my _bella_'s side, she smiled, even though the strain of her magic had coloured her face so ghostly pale. She tried to stand, but that proved even difficult—she sank into my arms, her breaths coming in soft, whistling wheezes.

Lazarus's wife stepped forward, eyeing the pair of us. "Blood magic?"

"There was— no other option." The girl I held had screwed up her eyes into thin slits, now unconscious. It was only now that I noticed her open wound. Whatever had transpired when we were apart?

Mariá—that is, Lazarus's wife— took this to be her cue, and gathered the girl from me, sealing the split in Kiera's palm, when a raucous cry came from the armoured men, and a clash occurred between the Orlesians and the Grey Wardens. But this 'fight' was over in mere minutes; with the Grey defenders emerging the undisputable victors. They did not pity the foreigners, calmly tying up the Orlesian chargers to nearby trees, taking stock of the items that these men carried.

I followed suit, drawing out papers and vials of lyrium from the downed men who had been the source of Kiera's attentions. They carried some very interesting orders. One of the smallest bottles of liquid gleamed a tarnished brown—call it habit, or what have you, but this I hid away from the others. It had seemed significant that I keep it, despite my ignorance about its contents. I had a feeling that it would be of use.

One of the men, tall and white-haired, drew his already-stained blade, as if to slay the man—Pascal, if I remember his name correctly—deeming it safer that no other templars survived to threaten us further. A curt word from Mariá prevented this, though for a moment, there was a deadly clash of looks.

"As you wish." He sniffed, sheathing his weapon, an oversized edge of steel. _He would be one to watch out for_—I remembered thinking, when the templar whom they had been fighting over awoke with a sudden twitch and snarl.

xOxOx

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><p>P.S.: A short note. The explanation for the templars isn't complete in this chapter, but I hope that for now, it clears up some things.<p> 


	20. Chapter 19: Consummation

A/N: I was wrong. This is the chapter you've all been waiting for. *giggles* Hope you like it! I'll write a longer one for the next update. So sorry it's so short!

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><p><strong>Chapter 19: Consummation<strong>

Mariá moved faster than I would have expected, a dagger materializing in one hand—pressing the wickedly-sharp edge against Pascal's pale throat. He looked about to lunge at Kiera, hate focused on her unconscious figure. My own body blocked his path to her, both daggers drawn, ready to end it, to defend the woman I loved. The rain was wetting us all thoroughly, and she was only dressed in white, clinging linen.

"One more step, templar, and you _will_ meet _your_ Maker."

He glared at her, blue eyes feral with anger. "_She_ is a maleficar."

"—who just saved _your_ life." A flash of blood flooded the man's cheeks, and he appeared embarrassed.

"I did not ask her to."

But he seemed defeated, developing a slump in his shoulders, looking over at the man who had fallen near where he himself had lain. Pascal nudged the lifeless corpse with the toe of his steel boot before turning to meet my unabashed stare. "And where are the things _we_ carried?"

"They are in my possession." I replied, turning to cover my _bella_ with a cloak. The storm was not abetting. She might get ill in this…weather.

"We should go," the man with the eager sword-hand approached us again. "The storm will drown us out here."

The lone templar spoke, his words trembling with just the slightest waver of distress. "What about the bodies? Of the men who followed me." His tender age was showing, despite his previous bravado. He seemed lost, almost as if _begging_, for a leader. I could see why my _bella_ had tried to save him, time and again.

Both Wardens exchanged a look, then another glance at their similarly drenched comrades. The storm and the hinterland was not a conducive place for even a saint's patience.

"Would you… like to commend their souls?" This came from Mariá, who was trying not to meet the poor boy's eyes. He nodded brusquely, before getting to his feet, approaching the pile of bodies that had already been made.

He held out a hand, closing his eyes, and began. His solemn voice cut through the storm, parted echoes of thunder like wispy curtains— and I half expected a ray of light, shining through the dark, rolling clouds.

"_Exaudi orationem meam;_

_ad te omnis caro veniet._

_Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine,_

_et lux perpetua luceat eis."_

Even the harsh shower seemed to have quieted, hearing that somber tenor of a prayer.

"_Absolve, Domine,_

_animas omnium fidelium defunctorum_

_ab omni vinculo delictorum_

_et gratia tua illis succurente_

_mereantur evadere iudicium ultionis,_

_et lucis æternae beatitudine perfrui.__"_

It sounded _nothing_ like the ones I've heard in any Chantry.

"That is—surely not Orlesian?" Mariá asked quietly.

A faint smile ghosted on Pascal's lips. "All the good ones are from _Tevinter_."

We lit the corpses— the fires were magically set alight, and left. The horses we led behind us, and they followed, gladly. Pascal was also of our very-wet party.

At least Kiera and I were together again.

xOxOx

I ached. All of me ached. My arms, hands, feet. My stomach ached from lack of food. Ugh. Food. The very thought made the gnawing hunger worse. I struggled to part my eyelids—so heavy they were, and found myself buried under heaps of cloths, and a gentle snoring coming from my bedside. Struggling free, I came upon the golden hair I remembered so fondly. Zevran. He had laid his head on the mattress I was on, an arm splayed out—falling asleep in such an awkward position.

A candle was very thoughtfully placed on the table, illuminating what I needed to see. What I wanted. Well, not _all_ I wanted, but… close enough. My imagination was good for everything else.

I couldn't resist touching him—and he was real. Warm, even. It was such a nice feeling. I wondered why he chose to let me have the bed all to myself— I was perfectly capable of sharing. Zevran was the first… I ever felt this way with. Even just stroking his hand, tenderly caressing those long, delicate fingers made me smile.

The door creaked open and I immediately conjured a ball of fire, eyeing the intruder. Zevran's own fingers had closed around mine; as he too, sat up—fully awake.

"Just checking in." Came the accented voice at the door. "Oh good, you're awake. My husband sent me down here with food—poor man is terrified of the both of you."

The chuckle in her voice made me smile. This was Lazarus's wife? "Ah… Thank you."

She was indeed a lovely woman, her dark hair glowed auburn in the shadows and her lovely green eyes danced gaily when she smiled. Her dress would have fitted her quite well, even now. Again, I sorely regretted the destruction of that garment. Lazarus would have enjoyed seeing his wife in it.

"I am glad that you are awake, my _bella_." Zevran shifted uncomfortably, next to me—possibly due to the aches in his shoulders. I soothed these without pause, gingerly brushing that smooth skin, green energy sparking from my fingertips—all the while trying to keep my thoughts clean.

We had an audience, who was now watching my actions even though honestly—she should have left after leaving the food tray on the nearby table.

And Zevran was not helping with his _appreciative_ noises. My own rising blush was not subtle.

She giggled, "Ah, young love. I suppose my very many queries will keep till dawn. Have fun!" Saying that, she slipped out the door, her light and rapid footsteps taking her a distance away before… we began.

**Zevran**

I did not—could not hold back, leaning in, meaning to brush the gentlest of kisses against her soft lips. Her similarly tender response caught at something in me, the proverbial heartstrings, perhaps, and my own body responded more enthusiastically, climbing onto the bed and above her. Giggles rose as I pressed myself against her, and she moved in kind, a thrust of her hips forcing a gasp from my lips. A most undignified growl escaped from my throat, and I immediately set to work, stripping my shirt off while she undid the string that held up my trousers. And I was bare— naked, again—a wave of pleasure rippled through my body as her gaze now swept across me, with only the faintest of blushes on her cheeks.

I slipped my hand beneath her tunic, stroking the firm, taut flesh, trailing along the numerous scars, taking my time before actually divesting my _bella_ of her attire. A frustrated sigh escaped as she broke away from the kiss, eyeing me with irritation. We both knew what we wanted, what _she_ wanted, but I did not want to rush, did not need to rush, not when all that lay ahead of us felt like eternity.

**Kiera**

Zevran was taking his time, at a moment like this— his deft fingertips bringing soft sounds to my already tight throat. It was very difficult to concentrate, so easy to heed each deliberate brush, the gentle caresses that explored my remarkably hot skin. He was playing, I decided, and I knew in that instant what was needed. Some retaliation was in order.

I knocked his hands away from my chest, slipping out from underneath him, careful to brush up, accidentally of course, against some very _tender_ parts. A slight hiss was heard as Zevran caught his breath, brown eyes glazed, that famous control already wavering. Too bad.

I removed my tunic, slipping the material over my head most sensuously, turning delicately away in mock shyness, expecting, and knowing that he would lead me back to the bed. Sure enough, firm hands gripped my hips, turning me forcibly to face their owner. He pulled, tenderly, breathing rapidly, and I went to him, knowing that my ploy had worked.

We made love. A tangle of sheets, limbs, furious pounding and thrusting—everything and anything. At least, we did, until hunger overtook us.

"I won't let you off so easily next time." He smiled, pulling on trousers, looking at me through the corner of his golden eyes. Oh Maker, that gaze sent pleasant shivers down my body, reminding me of what he could do with the rest of his body.

I replied loftily, carrying the food to the bed, "I'll hold you to that."

"Ah yes, do _hold_ me to that. All of that." Zevran was looking most lascivious.

* * *

><p>P.S.: Heh. Thanks for reading!<p>

Um... The prayer that Pascal said was from the Requiem Mass used (commonly?) in the musical compositions... got it off wikipedia, and I thought it sounded really good. Anyway, translation:

Hear my prayer;

to you shall all flesh come.

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord,

and let perpetual light shine upon them.

Forgive, O Lord,

the souls of all the faithful departed

from all the chains of their sins

and by the aid to them of your grace

may they deserve to avoid the judgment of revenge,

and enjoy the blessedness of everlasting light.


	21. Chapter 20: Explain, please

A/N: I apologise for not being able to explain further, but this is as best as I can muster. Please read, and enjoy!

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><p><strong>Chapter 20: Explain, please.<strong>

The stew was already cold, on the account of our… exertions, but my _bella_ heated the bowls up with a tiny flame, conjured on the tip of a finger. I must say that mages really fascinate me with their abilities, especially when one could think of very many ways to _abuse_ the spells for other _purposes_. Things that would definitely not pass in polite conversation— if you get my drift. This was apparently, also Kiera's first introduction to Antivan fish stew, purportedly made by the mistress herself. Lazarus did mention that he was terrible at cooking anything without _legs_.

"Wow. This _is_ marvellous." Kiera muttered as she swallowed the mouthful of steaming food. We ate ravenously, in utmost silence—our stomachs making the motions of replenishing energy quite…mechanically.

Her face became sombre, when the initial delight of the delicious fish stew wore off. Whatever she was thinking, I swore to distract her from it.

"I never got to _thank you_ fully for healing my arm…" I began, my face nothing but the most earnest of expressions.

Kiera chuckled— that gentle, bubbly sound lifting my heart. Perhaps she was not as melancholy as she looked.

"Didn't you already 'thank' me?" Her eyes glinted impishly once more. "Many times, as I recall."

"Ah… I assure you, my appreciation can be expressed far more _profusely_ than I have previously demonstrated. I am quite able to '_thank you'_ a good two or three more times, my love. Or, if we pace ourselves, _you_ might be _thanking_ _me_ till midday. Perhaps if we get the proper… sustenance, coupled with that spell you enjoy abusing, of course." I waggled my eyebrows at her, knowing that she could not resist.

And of course, my Kiera began to blush, but she seemed more intrigued by the idea than embarrassed by my lack of… embarrassment. Shameless, that, I am. And will very likely, always be.

"I'll… take you up on that, but after some rest. We both need it."

Her hand brushed against my own, almost suggestively, and she moved slightly, making room for me on the bed. I settled upon the thin mattress, laying my head on the pillow next to hers, slipping one arm around her slim waist. This seemed right, though it felt completely foreign to me; this sleeping without first partaking in the joys of the flesh. And we slept, side by side,

* * *

><p><em>I dreamt of a girl, and a young boy. They played together, laughing and running in daylight. The girl was Kiera, delicate and lovely- and the little boy...a spitting image of myself as a child. The shirt the elven boy wore was one I had during my childhood, coarse, old and threadbare while she was in robes. Dark red robes. Wisps of power surrounded us, all shapes and colours, and she seemed aglow with the light— far outshining the sun. It was hard to look at her, after awhile.<em>

_I— He stopped chasing, having lost her amid the glow. He was the Shadow. Darkness spread where he touched, and it threatened to sap what brightness that had illuminated her._

_He saw a figure, and wanted to continue their fun, but—he was afraid._

_She reached out, offering company through their differentiated spaces. He swallowed, and took her hand, when the shadow spread, and ate up her arm._

_Fear._

_Fear filled those eyes of blue, and she tried to outrun it, all the while dragging the boy—me— along._

_It was all too late, for she did not let go of my hand. And it consumed her, and then, there was no light. Only blackness, overtaking the sapphire of her eyes._

* * *

><p>I awoke. And I found those same lovely jewelled eyes watching me, having intently observed my fitful slumber.<p>

"Watching me sleep?" She was tracing the tattoos on the side of my face, the tender press of her fingers slowing the panic that had struck when the girl in my dream disappeared.

"Mmhmm. Because you're so very handsome and—"

I did not wait for her to finish that sentence. My heart still pounded from that image, of her, swallowed by a taint. My own.

I sat up, watching as she did the same, her hair catching the light of the little wisps that had been conjured, floating above us, near the ceiling. "Tell me, my _bella_. What do you see in me?"

A hesitation followed as she attempted to quantify her feelings. I felt a fool to have asked her. I opened my mouth to laugh it off, to make a joke where I felt none, when her single-worded answer silenced me.

"Everything."

I must have looked confused, for she continued, explaining her reply. "_My_ everything. Oh, I know it sounds so shameless to say it aloud bu—"

I kissed her again, and a furious heat glowed in me. I knew I had to have her.

xOxOx

**Lazarus**

It was, from the beginning, apparent that whoever tried to rouse the lovebirds would earn their wrath. Sad to say, that duty had been carried out by the young templar, who had walked in on quite a scene. Something involving an explicit misuse of a frost spell. That was the reason I opted to remain aloof from the pair, though thankfully, they finally relented, and decided to ascend the steps to the main tavern.

The moment Kiera set foot on the flagstones; there was a sudden call from the templar, a determined warning. "Stay back. I won't hesitate to smite you, bl—"

"Say that word. I dare you. I can hit you from waaaay over here." She was understandably, not in the mood for his nonsense. But between her conjuring of flames and the young man's threatening steps towards her—there seemed no other way of stopping this before the _Argento_ burned down.

I called out in the hushed silence that had ensued. "Calm down, both of you. Kiera, put out that fire before you set my ale ablaze. And you—if there's any smiting to be done, it'll be done by me." Even the usually good-humoured Wardens were quiet; cowed, by the display of animosity. Everyone seemed to be getting ready for a right battle.

There was silence, as the truth sank in. I had not meant for it to be this public, but…

"You're a templar?" The same horrified stress was laid on the word came from both mage and man. Was that so hard to believe? Mariá was laughing, the imp, practically chortling in her mirth. She sat, watching from the table where the Wardens were, eyeing the spectacle everyone else now tried assiduously to ignore.

"That explains a lot." Kiera flashed a tentative smile, taking a seat quite near the confused young man. Zevran and her appear to have not wasted any time, a glow seemed to emanate from those pink cheeks, their manner and lack of distance from the other said plenty about their mutual adoration. The former was still eyeing the boy with no small amount of watchfulness, fiercely protective of his lovely maiden.

This Pascal fidgeted, evidently more than a little disturbed by their proximity to him. To be honest, I was rather more intrigued by the young man's distrust of Kiera, who, beautiful as she was, hid a surely tragic past with someone the boy had— loved?

He had only downed a mug of our weakest ale, and yet seemed ready to fight a drunken battle with his apparent _arch-nemesis_.

Mariá had told me of what they had found, in that fateful clearing just ten miles shy of the Antivan Circle. We had our suspicions, but we also respected privacy. Some things were just not meant for sharing, and only if they told their story would we get involved. There was still that difficult business with Drago to settle. I was quite glad that my wife had returned in time, responding immediately to the missive I sent after her, saving our guests with gusto. I planned to reward her as soon as we could be alone, when I could close the bar, and have her all to myself. It had been quite a long time since we were together last.

As I understand it, the two youths (though paradigm opposites) were the key players in the affair—and would very likely prefer it to remain that way, untouched by a third party. Zevran's looting of the key letters appeared to have contained some information of import, but since none of us could read the flowing Orlesian script, a translation from the two was urgently needed.

Pascal was forced to move closer to the couple, his curiosity getting the better of the repulsion Kiera inspired. They pored over the parchment, damp from the rain, lamenting softly about smudges that had been created by some pesky drops of water (I think I spilled a smidge of wine on one. Maybe.).

* * *

><p><em>T,<em>

_Your mission is simple. Bring her home, where she belongs. Pay no heed to the other templars. They have already been briefed, and will assist you to the best of their abilities. The captain's life is not essential for the completion of this task; he is a fanatic, driven mad by his personal issues. Celeste must come back unharmed._

_Do not fail me—L. R._

_Cont: The Order has assured me that they will look away if you return without him. I enclose his assurance._

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><p><em>Lord R,<em>

_I will accept your naming of T, and will ensure that all will go smoothly on our end. He will not have to worry about P._

_F_

* * *

><p><em>P,<em>

_The apostate, who shall not be named, will be under your charge when you have tracked her down. Do not hesitate to use force if she and those who travel with her are not cooperative. Bear in mind that delicacy is still key; our relationship with the Antivans must above all, be cordial._

_Maker speed your journey,_

_Knight-Commander Francois._

_Postscript— I will assign Tristan as your second. He comes with very high recommendations from our outposts; so do not antagonize each other._

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><p>I watched the man read the papers with a growing despair, frustration almost manifesting in an eagerness to rip the offending papers apart. Poor Pascal. I almost felt sorry for him, if not for the fact that he had caught us at a most inopportune moment.<p>

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><p>P.S.: Let me know if it helps? Or makes you even more confused? I hope this explains more. *hint, review?* :D<p>

Thanks for reading, and Happy Mother's Day!


	22. Chapter 21: Calling card

A/N: Okay, sorry for the delay—we're officially back on hunting down some more Crows. Thanks for putting up with me :)

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><p><strong>Chapter 21: Calling Card<strong>

"So what will you do now? Go back to the Order?" Kiera asked the boy, after they had kindly translated the gist of the letters to us non-Orlesians. She seemed unduly concerned about his well-being, given that he had previously treated her rather badly.

But then, she treated everyone the same. Mage, templar, assassin. The girl had precious few prejudices.

The hollow eyes stared back at Kiera, and for a moment, I realised how similar they looked, the same blue eyes, the same golden hair. They couldn't be related, could they? It was certainly something to think about, though utterly… unimaginable. My _bella_ would have mentioned something like this, surely.

The two of them were actually sharing a laugh, long low chuckles about something. Something I had apparently missed—and I looked up at my _bella_, when the boy spoke again, voice sober, hands filled with yet another drink. Nothing alcoholic though—Lazarus made that very clear.

"The other Order— think they'll take me?"

She answered slowly, choosing her words carefully. "They take most people as mere recruits, but your templar training will be most valuable—you'll be made a full-fledged Warden quite soon, I gather. But are you absolutely certain you do not want to return to Orlais?"

He seemed unsure, and faint tremors shook his limbs. I noticed that Lazarus then mouthed something at his wife, who promptly left the room. Kiera's fingers touched my own—under the table— slipping her hand into mine, and her palm was smooth and cold. She was thinking, hard—barely responding to the reassuring squeeze with a smile.

A vial was forced into Pascal's hands a short moment later, and the boy was told firmly to _drink_. _He_ didn't even question the order; he swallowed the bluish contents of the bottle, forcing it down with a cough. Colour came back into his pale skin, though the feverish look about him barely abated. He then nodded his thanks, carefully avoiding my _bella's_ quizzical eyebrow.

Kiera's gaze flicked from Pascal to Lazarus, to mine and then to Mariá—before understanding.

"Lyrium—?"

There was a sudden bang at the doors, and a figure slumped through the opening—appeared to be made up of two persons, covered in mud and blood. One of them was very surely, Emiliana. I had not seen her since before my trip to the _Castello_ and I found—was that one of the elves? Yes—it was the boy, Erial—and his face was streaked with dirt and…tears.

The Wardens had carried the two further into the room, gently laying them on tables. The boy put up no fuss, limbs weak from supporting Emiliana the journey back as well as—a dull horror in his large green eyes.

Kiera and Mariá both began checking the two for injuries, their combined spells creating a healing glow, and bewildering the rest of the customers in the alehouse. Many of these began to make themselves scarce, no longer permanent fixtures at their favourite haunt, when a loud cry took up again. Something terrified those who left establishment.

**Kiera**

I had barely gotten the Emiliana's wounds closed when Zevran dashed out into the streets, apparently uncaring that there could be more of the assassins outside the inn. I could not leave, for the woman was very near death, having her flesh reopened so soon after that—bastard—had his knives on her. I fervently hoped that these too, would not scar. Few men understood the reason behind the markings on a woman, especially one not suited for the slashing and killing life like mine.

The rips in her clothes told a story, as did the poor child to my right, who was still mute, despite Mariá's varied enquiries.

We decided to swap, for she was much better at healing than I—and it was then the elf spoke, when I asked about pain—his whispered words, chilling.

"I feel nothing. She is gone."

He met my eyes, and I saw only anguish in the glassy green orbs that reflected my own confusion back at me. Abruptly, he tried to get up, off the table, shoving me aside with remarkable strength. I caught myself before falling off the table, stepping in the boy's path with a determined air.

He swayed a little, and I moved forward to try and catch him, before almost receiving a fist in my gut. Never underestimate an Antivan Crow. I caught that hand, pushing him backwards— before a well-aimed knock to the back of his head put him under. Lazarus shook his head and sighed, lifting the boy and walked back to the cellars.

But I was already on my way out—coming across a stony Zevran and Pascal, both staring at the splash of redness that had covered most of the wall of the _Argento_. And as if that wasn't bad enough, the head of a female elf lay in a nearby ditch, the remains of her body unceremoniously dumped in the middle of the paved walkway.

A note was tacked on nearby with a dagger, driven into the door.

Zevran tore it off, barely glancing at the inscription before crushing it into a tiny ball. His light-brown eyes flicked to me before shrugging, and both of us stalked back into the tavern. There was much to be done, and now—we could no longer rely on our kind friends' and their hospitality.

The Crows had left a most disturbing calling card.

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><p>P.S.: Thanks for reading! A review if you please? ;D<p> 


	23. Chapter 22: Split

A/N: You won't believe the trouble I had with this chapter. Thanks to Maven and Tuneless! Oh and also everyone who's reading and subscribing :) If you do review, however, that's a bonus—and I'll love you for it!

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><p><strong>Chapter 22: Split<strong>

We travelled in silence and frankly, Zevran worried me. He seemed altogether too tense, too silent as we entered the building in which we could leave our things. It was an abandoned house on the docks, falling apart, but a good hiding place as any. Lazarus had tried to make us stay, but neither of us wanted to drag more people into this—disagreement we had with the Crows. I detected a strain in Zevran's eyes, a severe determination so foreign to those lips. Abruptly, I wanted to see that smile again, so lascivious and so utterly gorgeous. His eyes would sparkle, not just glitter in that menacing way. But I followed, noting his movements that held nothing of the rage I had seen spark dangerously just a half hour before. He had been most furious.

But at what? Himself? The Crows? Me? If I had not allowed myself to be taken away by the templars… none of this would have happened. I didn't know what to think—but I hoped that this blasted mood would be over soon.

"Silently now, my _bella_," he whispered, as we scaled the guardhouse.

These were the first words he spoke since leaving the _Argento_, and I could have jumped when the words issued forth from his once grimly-pursed lips. I swallowed (inaudibly) and trailed him as close as I could— though my footing was imprecise, making soft thuds on the tiles. These attracted the attentions of the patrolling guards.

"Wha—" They had noticed, but barely had time to call out the alarm, receiving arrows and daggers to the chest, and then they too, crumpled to the ground. I wanted to apologise for my lack of stealth, but Zevran barely turned, and after his distracted gaze determined my safety, took up the lead again.

One thing was for sure; he certainly did know his way around the _Castello_.

We were in, and heartily aware that we had left a swath of bodies in our wake. Absolute stealth was not a priority—the men's deaths would be answered to only when we left the place. Killing was by now a reflex— a quick stab, a hand clapped over the mark's mouth— and the quiet way the men expired made one feel just the little bit _untouchable_.

Azrael chuckled, a hum that vibrated at the back of my head.

_Beginning to enjoy the killing? That's… never a good sign, you know._

_I know._

Our movements were not without haste, but the journey gave me some time to think—to process everything that had just happened. Erial was unresponsive when he woke, and Emiliana was still unconscious, but Mariá was a very good healer—one of the best I've seen. They were in good hands. I had to focus on Zevran _now_.

Flattening ourselves against the wall, we awaited the clomp of numerous boots that would reveal the right moment where one could slip into the hall. Zevran went first, a slight shadow flitting across the stones. He motioned for my own movement, but an iron-wrought gate came crashing down, fencing me on this side—cutting us off from the other.

"_Braska_—" An impossible number of guards swarmed my area, but I urged him on.

"Go on ahead. I'll catch up."

"I'm not leaving you—" I waved impatiently, cutting him off. If I could buy him time, I would. This place was affecting Zevran, and perhaps, when he found the Drago he would return to his usual self. I missed his devilish smile and wicked ways.

Turning towards my increasing number of opponents, I felt Azrael readying Himself within for the battle ahead. "I'm not exactly defenseless. Go." I was going to need a lot of mana for this—so I conjured wisps which would aid me greatly in the dim expanse of space. It sure was dark—yet another storm was gathering outside, I supposed.

_I love these life or death situations. I get to have fun._

I have to admit, the rumble of glee coming from Him was contagious.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw Zevran hurry away. A mistake, for what I remember next was a blank darkness. _Dammit—Azrael._

xOxOx

_Rinna. The girl had the most winsome smile. The mesmerizing smile had faded when we caught her— no—when we turned on her, no longer __**Crows**__. We were __**wolves**__ of vengeance— anxious to kill that which had betrayed us— the skinny slip of a girl who was sure to be leading us into a trap._

_At the time, it didn't matter how I felt— I knew it all to be a lie__;__ the tender __**dancing**__ around the issue of love that we both did__—__ anxious not to seem too eager, or focussed on __the issue,__ lest we marred the professional relations which we had to maintain above all else._

_But perhaps __T__aliesin had been jealous when the Rinna and I grew closer with each passing day, our affections for each other quite plain. Perhaps this was the reason he chose the path that he did, taking the word of a known lying source, naming __R__inna a traitor when he had barely a shred of proof to her misdeeds._

_And I__—__ I only thought that perhaps it was better not to have loved— better to not have let someone this close for I knew—I should have known the dangers that such proximity would bring._

_But with this great— feeling__—__ came the greatest horror of betrayal. It shocked even me when I cut her down so mercilessly, when I did not even stop to hear her pleas. Truly, I did not want to hear them. I found myself a figure of stone, deaf to all that spoke for her life. In that moment, I found myself falling to the deepest void I ever thought possible, closing all other thought for I could not bear that my memory of the girl was so marred, so disfigured._

**So hideous.** The night we shared was a mistake, I had told myself.

_That shuddering gasp, the murmurs, the shouts of our names when we were together— had given me a value, assigned me a precious thing to protect, the lovely woman who had mirrored everything I wanted. The woman who mattered. But there was no other choice, when Taliesin accused. I knew in that moment that everything was worthless, beyond hope, having found the one failing in the thing I had thought most perfect._

_She had called me her savior, as she was mine, and we were both relieved to have found each other in the midst of being assassins, bringers of death and paid for in gold. But no, it was not meant to be._

"_Zev…"_

_Rinna died with my name on her lips. She believed till the end that I would save her, that I would believe, but I did not. I could not, and I steeled myself against those tears, and soon, witnessed the glazing of those charming brown eyes, the dullness of death filling her pupils._

_No more light would shine through the blotches in the deadened glassiness, no more would her arms welcome in an embrace. No more the whispers of a passionate evening, and no more would I earn the warmth that had filled me once. There was no such thing, a __**pure**__ love between assassins. In the end, there was only the most terrible of betrayals._

But I would not let myself be distracted now, not when I had him ahead. The guards did not slow me, and the deaths became a blur, splashes of blood and flesh slumping to the floor. This was not the quickest way to the man, through six more corridors and behind three more doors, but I even began to relish the hunt. I did not imagine a payout, an order to kill, though these were familiar to me.

These were distasteful. I was no longer a hired blade, no longer an artist of death, a mechanism inevitable or perfectly automatic in its taking of life.

I was not the man whom I once thought expendable.

I had a meaning to my life—another woman I cared for and she… cared about me in return. I could not let that down. But it was immensely difficult, now, without anything to distract me from my memories. Those decisions which I had made once upon a time.

Kiera could handle those men—I was sure of it—and now more than ever, I needed to trust someone, anyone, even though I felt like filth when I turned my back on her. She… would be safer on that side of the barricade.

She did not need to see me like this.

_When the deed and mission was done, I grew restless when the proof we were promised did not appear. Evidence, there was __**none**__. Nothing showed that Rinna had sold us out- nothing but an empty echo of our protestations. I became a shell of myself, having let myself to be so deceived, that Rinna… That I had allowed Taliesin's suspicion to sway my actions. There would be blood to pay, for the cell master would not be pleased. I had failed, for the first time; I did not deliver all that was expected. This was an unforgivable mistake. I was nonessential, like all the others._

A man stepped from the shadows ahead, laughing faintly as he eyed the pile of carcasses in my wake.

Limbs, appendages, I had cut off when I made my dash towards the Dragon, spills, great splashes of their lifeblood painting my path and myself a gaudy colour of death. I had not cared how I appeared during the fighting, but when I had stopped, I felt the littlest bit of disapproval at the uncontrolled mayhem so wantonly displayed.

Yes, it was best that Kiera did not see me now.

"Zevran—it certainly has been awhile," the man before me smirked, sauntering over with his blades sheathed. "Your work—appears to have… deteriorated. You are _still_ a man of skill, yes?"

"I am quite beside myself with… emotion, Prince Claudio Valisti." I had hoped that he would not stand in my way— and I was not in the mood for idle chitchat.


	24. Chapter 23: Coop

A/N: Hey so I know it's been awhile— and I'm really sorry. Thanks for continuing to support this venture—we're a few chapters from the end! I'm thinking two. If you think there's room for improvement do let me know :D

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><p><strong>Chapter 23: Co-op<strong>

"Such a formal address—_Zevran Ara__i__n__a__i_. But more importantly, I've never put you for one so easily swayed by something quite so unprofessional as _feelings_. Were you not taught to handle these— _affectations_? Surely you cannot still be upset by that incident?" Claudio's voice was mocking, but he was correct—the Crows did teach a certain coldness when it came to _sentiment_.

I remained mute, struggling to have a hold on my red-tinged rage. Cleaning my blades slowly, I turned each weapon over in my hand, carefully examining them for nicks. Several were seen along their edges, but the comfortable weight of these reassured me—the perfectly balanced daggers my _b__ella_ had given me during our time in Denerim.

These would not lose to anything Claudio had, not even that famed longsword of his— my speed surpassed those like him. But the man's ever-closing distance irritated something in me, and though I affected nonchalance, I really was biding my time. He knew this, too.

"Come now, Zevran. The time for needless violence has passed. If I had really wanted you dead, we would not be speaking so civilly— and one of us would already be lying in a pool of blood." He leaned against a stone wall, before continuing his speech.

"The Dragon does not want your death—he merely wishes an audience with the Crow who has _cheated_ death—by surviving a contract on the famed Grey Wardens. This meeting will of course, involve your lovely companion."

That mention of my _b__ella_ got my attention—could it be that they wanted vengeance for her treatment of Ulisse's scion? Few could hurt one of the Antivan privileged and hope to escape a swift retribution.  
>I looked up at the prince—<em>royalty<em> as he was, his title alluded to only the slightest of links to the Antivan line. The crows machined politics daily, and there was very little trace of the true-blooded nobles in the government. It was not often such a personage would grace an audience with a _nuisance_ like me— the man handled the official business in the Court—and naturally _he_ was not trained as an _assassin_.No, it was far more likely that he had been sent because his master did not want to answer Drago's summons personally—resulting in our unfortunate reunion. Claudio was not a man known for honor, very much so a man who would not do a thing unless it held some form of benefit to his status. If such a thing were true, then so were my speculations:

The crows were warring amidst themselves—Drago's power was waning, as surely as the moon in autumn sky. And with his son gravely injured, possibly scarred beyond recovery… there would be no familial heir for the Guild Master. His hold in Antiva was weakening—and signaled the beginnings of a new _dynasty_. This was no comfort— more so, it was a disaster for those who wished stability and control on affairs of state—the guild's fragmentation bode nothing but ill.

"The Master only wishes to _talk_?" This was news. Ambushes were the Crows' specialty, but never one the Dragon would stoop to use. I assented by sheathing my blades, but the faint amusement in Claudio's _noble_ features disturbed me.

There was a lot more to this than meets the proverbial eye.

xOxOx

He was alone, and waiting. Strangely, he was unconcerned that the men right outside this door lay in heaps, their blood pooling the floor a dark red. Those light-coloured eyes flashed as he rose from his chair, a ghost of the man I knew from those years ago. He had aged, terribly—and these years piled up in his smooth movements, though the carefully groomed facial hair was still free from telltale silver.

Still a deepest, darkest black.

_Crow_.

The edge in his pupils was like the keen sliver of metal—piercing. Age did not dull the man's senses, though it had so clearly lined his classical features. Claudio remained in the shadows; it seemed that I was to have the Dragon's attentions to myself, yet again.

_He_ gestured grandly at the chair, and I noted that there was a faint tremble present in those limbs.

I ignored the seat, and stepped closer. This had to end.

"Zevran, be reasonable." The sonorous voice of one who commanded. But no more. Not me.

A slow smirk grew on my face. "As you have been?"

"She will be here soon. My men have been told to let her pass."

xOxOx

_It was all a blur._

The first two waves tried rushing towards the girlish figure, but these attempts only forced His hand. Well, to be fair, those were _her_ hands—casting magicks that have previously been unknown to any other. Dark tendrils swarmed up from the stones beneath them and yanked grown men to their knees— their armor suddenly crushingly heavy, their hands clawing at the air that grew ever quieter with the sounds of their choking.

_He was having such wonderful fun. But it was oh so very brief._

And lo, a single man was left standing at the far end of the stone walls. He was shaking quite visibly, weapons forgotten at the sight of the piles of greying flesh writhing on the floor. A lowly messenger, it seemed. Still, it was to be applauded that this boy (for he was hardly more than a child) stood so upright without defecating himself like so many of his comrades were doing. Curiously, this youth also possessed some urgent news. A wave of the blades drew the solitary male to Him, lifted over the soon-to-be corpses by a force that Azrael held—tenderly.

"N-new orders from t-the D-dragon," he stammered.

_Oh? What is it—child of Man?_

The seductive voice took hold and the boy fell limp; thoughts drained by the coaxing fingers that had somehow slipped into his head. Images were torn, control usurped by a dreadful hum of busyness that whispered in the boy's mind.

_Interesting_._ He thrummed with delight. Most fun._

Azrael felt the girl recoil within her vessel of a body, and smiled a terrible grin as the boy slumped to the floor—drained. He felt the mildest irritation at her discomfort, that she would be so affected by one so common as the elf—that she would instinctively shudder at the thought of _him_ seeing _her_ like _this_. As if what she was, was anything too terrible to hide.

What they embodied was simple—pure power.

He felt annoyed, that after years of being like this, so connected to her, the girl never once particularly embraced what _they_ were. He was the only one who stood with her in her darkest times.

Such a pity that _she_ (or He, for that matter) should care _now_.

xOxOx

I waited, impatiently, for this _event_ the Dragon had promised—and privately I prayed that my _bella_ was unharmed. She would not allow herself to be taken—not as casually as the Crows would expect but… the delay was making me anxious.

This lateness grated on the nerves of men who were used to prompt acquiescence. "Your men are certainly taking their time—_Claudio_." Drago's face was illuminated every so often by the flashes of lightning that cracked across the sky. The storm had arrived.

"For an honored guest like her, I would imagine that _my_ men would proceed with much consideration." But the sourness in the _prince's_ voice was telling.

"Perhaps _you_ would deign to find out what it is that delays them?"

There was definitely an undercurrent of _something_ in the room. And Claudio barely moved from his position at the far wall.

"_Perhaps_."

Power was changing hands in Antiva; and it was evident that the prince did not want to leave us alone, though he had no choice but to obey.

The door opened inwards, and there she was, coolly gazing into the darkened room. I noticed that she had not a splash of blood on her, and her eyes seemed to glow faintly with a curious red fire. My _bella_ glanced at me, and that I knew that it was not her in there. The danger that once lurked was now in charge.

"Ask and you shall receive," said my _bella_, a strange smile on her lips.

Drago watched her, his frown suddenly clearing as he exuded the charm that was known for its terrible efficiency—bowing elegantly.

"My sincere condolences for the business at the _Argento_—" he paused, seeming to request her name.

But there was a long pause in which my _bella's_ smile only widened, and did not offer any. "Ah, _silence_ is a thing that occurs most rarely among women—you are a true gem indeed—I can see why Zevran… switched sides." Again, he gestured towards the seat, and to my surprise, Kiera sat quite obligingly, lounging luxuriously on the simple _sedia_. This was not her at all.

"Perhaps you would deign to reveal your intriguing, evil plans?" A laugh was in her voice, teasing, husky, almost seductively so—exotic in its darkness.

Drago barked a harsh laugh, "So _professional_— Zevran, your lovely companion _is_ Crow material. You have a thing for attracting these types, no?"

"What was her name… Rivaa? Rikka? The girl who had the unfortunate pleasure of knowing our Arainai, _last_."

Claudio chuckled from his corner. My hands began to clench into fists again—to have Kiera hear all this, somehow made it quite difficult to breathe normally.

My _bella_ did something with her hands—and then Claudio was kneeling—clutching at nothing, gasping as he appeared to choke. It was most alarming to witness, but at least his derisive laughter cut off most satisfyingly. But as I turned back to face my Kiera, I found her still staring at the Dragon, and he seemed rather unable to look away.

It was only then Drago, Grand Master of the Antivan Crows realized that my _bella_ was not quite the figure she appeared to be.

"My _patience_ wears thin." Spoke He who wore my _bella's_ smile.


	25. Chapter 24: Successor

****Hey :D

Sorry it took this long to update; I'm drowning in WoW, and generally not feeling the urge to write. Anyway, thanks for reading, and reviewing! Do let me know if you find issues with this chapter!

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><p><strong>Chapter 24: Successor<strong>

I stepped closer to the pair, ignoring _poor_ Claudio who was still on his knees—the Master would have something planned, despite his offer to 'talk'. There was a long pause, before my _bella_ leaned casually on the arms of her chair, waiting calmly, for Ulisse's reply.

He seemed perturbed by her previous actions and corresponding silence, for the red glint in her eyes was rather unsettling, even from this distance. His following words were meaningless, those used to buy time and _perhaps—_ never uttered before by such a man. "You wish for answers— something… highly irregular in our line of work, as Zevran would agree. I merely want to _know_ you, as well as the swath of death you deem _necessary_ to leave in your wake."

The man paused, trying to regain his previous composure. "But your abilities…"

No explanations were ever given, not by assassins, not by the Masters and certainly not Drago Ulisse. It had seemed obvious, all of it just… business. There rarely was a need for reasons. And so, my _b__ella_ interrupted the man who was used to commanding the utmost obedience.

"If you can't even answer a simple question, I shall answer in your stead. Obviously _I_ or rather, who I _am_—is something which you fear; so much so that you would trouble yourself to send your men after _me_… Of course, a few of those encounters…" At this she paused, before continuing, "were just financial _opportunities_, nothing personal—this I understand.

She crossed her smooth legs, leaning back against the back of the chair. "And yet, I haven't forgotten the _C__rows_ you sent to the pathetic mage prison. Tell me, what did you expect, when you keep sending your assassins after this lovely form? Tolerance? Mercy?"

A delicate strain crept into Drago's voice as he tried to explain, though he still affected a veneer of calm.

"Those men at the circle were sent to escort your— _lovely_ self here, nothing more." Even he seemed to have realised that there was something entirely wrong with the Kiera who continued her speech deliberately from her seat.

A derisive laugh issued from her perfect lips. This Azrael made her quite the figure of danger, for every movement seemed to make the Master flinch, a slight twitch that would not be visible even from a short distance away.

"Fair enough. Explain the templars." That sharp tone was one that I have never heard being used.

"Templars? We stopped having dealings with them since a year ago—"

"Lies—there was a _maleficar_ at the Castillo." The way that word was spat out, made it seem abhorrent, even to the thing that inhabited my _b__ella_. She had described him a guardian, but she had not denied his being a malevolent force. For this Azrael to loathe the prospect of more demons gaining control… was truly an odd thing, considering the numerous stories about demons and blood magic.

The familiar purr resurfaced in Ulisse's manner, having regained some of his previous form in following this new discussion. "And you think the templars would have tolerated that? Some cells began keeping apostates with rather… unique talents in their employ." At this, the Dragon stared pointedly over my shoulder, presumably at Claudio. Their differing opinions on the matter appear to have been a matter of conflict.

Kiera lifted herself out of the chair elegantly, all the while still eyeing the man. "Well, you are still Master of this… guild of _assassins_, yes? You should really try to nip that practice in the bud. Magic tends to be abused, and for the simplest reason—_greed_. And when this greed outstrips the will once thought _sufficient_ to control it… Well, let's just say that I've seen what it does to the best of intentions, and it has… terrible consequences reaching beyond your mortal _sanctuary_ of Death."

I have never seen Drago gape quite like that— with the sudden realisation that he had no power over another—especially the svelte figure that had just turned her back on him. It might have been amusing, under other circumstances, but it was true that Azrael was definitely more dangerous between the two.

xOxOx

Briefly, Azrael pondered the likelihood of untruths in the man's statement—the man who would soon die—recognizing the strong will that had kept this _Dragon_ alive. But that voice was wavering; the fear underneath that smooth layer of 'calm' was struggling free.

"And… that is why the Chantry no longer openly supports us." It certainly was quite obvious to Him, without the meaningless repetition. This man had nothing else to offer—that was certain.

"What about the Orlesians?" This came from the elf, who had been silent all this while. While Azrael understood that it was a valid question—He simply did not care. Nevertheless, the girl was curious, and He allowed that it _was_ an interesting diversion. Proper vengeance would then be wrought on those who deserved it the most. Preferably rather slowly.

"_Orlesians_?" The old man's brow creased again, before sharing a look with the man in the far corner of the room. "Claudio, I assume this is your _master's_ doing?" How shocking that the mere mortal could exude such power in a single stress of a word. Azrael found that he had a growing lack of disdain for this dying man.

"_She_ is— a foreigner—" came the weak reply. But it was apparent that the excuse was covering for another, more likely motive. Power was truly the basis of every action in Antiva.

"Enough." It seems that this _Dragon_ did not care to hear the man's words either. "This is the reason I have… wanted to meet with you, Zevran—you and your…friend."

"As you would have realised, the Antivan Crows are no longer wholly in my control. My…offspring will very likely not be worthy to even present himself as a leader to a flock of geese, let alone the Crows. But I digress," the man began pacing slowly and Azrael watched him, intrigued.

"I am not long for this world, Zevran. While I had hoped that your—_talented_ partner—might perhaps be able to delay this… I must name a successor before it is too late."

The elf hesitated before replying. "And what would you have me do?"

"You are by far the most talented Crow that I've seen. While I have no illusions that the rest of the Masters will take this decision quietly, at the very least, I know that _you_ would be able to defend yourself amidst their numerous… _objections_."

In a sudden display of agility, this Claudio had drawn a dagger and crossed the room, pressing the sharp edge against the elf's neck. Azrael suppressed a chuckle at this; mortals never failed to amuse him in their strange undertakings.

xOxOx

I could only watch on before; none of my attempts at struggling got past Azrael's control of my limbs, my voice—but seeing Zevran taken hostage sparked something… primal.

This Claudio's voice was guttural, "Kill the old fool, and I will let your _pet_ go."

I felt the ripple of laughter wash over in my head—this was probably even better than Azrael had hoped— he enjoyed watching men corrupt themselves in the eyes of the Maker (for some reason, He still believed in the presence of a higher power).

_Stop him._

"Such arrogance… _why_? Why should I do as you command?" The words He spoke in my voice were chilling—He cared nothing for Zevran. But I did.

_Because I tell you to._

"Your lover will die. Is that not a sufficient reason?" Sneered the man, foaming spittle in his ridiculously-groomed beard.

_You and I both know why some abominations look so hideous._

"You say that like it matters to me."I could not see the look on Zevran's face, but I had hoped that he knew that these weren't _my_ words, though they were uttered from my mouth.

_Because their hosts fight back._

"You see, Zevran—the cold-hearted bitch could care less about you—"

_If you deny me this—if you allow anything to happen to him—to anyone I… love and cherish, I will fight you, Azrael. I will make sure that you will never pass this body off as human._

"Then let us see who will last the longest." Zevran had had a dagger pointed at the man's abdomen, but all who were present could see that it was futile. This Claudio was clad in platemail, difficult to pierce in such close quarters.

_We will perish together. This I swear._

_Azrael barely glanced at me, but he had heard._

"Very well. How would you like to see this… _dragon_ die?" Saying this, all of us watched on in horror as Drago was lifted off his feet, shadows twining themselves around his lower extremities. Zevran took his chance, and stabbed the offending person, but the edge only glanced off the metal, drawing a long gash on where flesh would have parted on the protective armour.

Claudio responded by slashing at Zevran's neck and when I saw blood welling, there was no question of who was in command—and it was not Azrael.

In a step, I found my fingers casting the healing spells that I had found so complicated before, moving Zevran's own digits for the contact that I needed. I cared not for the two other Crows; all I could see was red. The blood, the life that spilled out of the man I cared for was everything that mattered.

The gold-flecked eyes gazed into mine, and I wondered if he saw any trace of Azrael, of the _thing_ I had allowed myself to become. But I could not afford such thoughts. I needed to force the flesh on his neck to heal, no matter his reactions toward… _me_.

His hand grasped mine, and just when I knew that he was going to reject my help, and maybe even _what_ I was, I heard a single word.

He coughed up the clotted blood and sat upright, still holding my hand tightly. "_Azul_." I could only stare on in shock; Zevran seemed delirious.

"Azure. He means blue." We both looked up to see Drago— releasing Claudio's lifeless body, cleaning his stained blade on the corpse's rich velvet trimmings. He muttered, before raising the dagger again. "And I am not so infirm that I cannot handle the likes of you," he addressed the body.

"Ulisse—" began Zevran, who was surprisingly spry as he returned to his feet, no doubt to explain my previous willingness to kill him, before he was interrupted again.

"As I was saying—I will name _you_ my successor, Zevran Arainai. Provided that your companion leaves Antivan borders by mid-day tomorrow."


	26. Chapter 25: Incompleteness

A/N: I had written for this to be a much longer chapter but… this is it.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 25: Incompleteness<strong>

"_How do you say 'golden eyes' in Antivan?"_

_The man laughed, the first in what felt like a long time._

"'_Ojos__ dorados__', my bella," he grinned, knowing the intention._

"_You have… Ojos dorados."_

"_Is that a compliment?" he continued grinning, and the gentle flicker of light from the candles caught the faint scar that now lined his throat._

_It was a stark reminder of the reality—of the death that stalked mortals— a wicker burning down, and would one day, die. To take even that limited time away from another so close…was unthinkable.  
><em>

_He saw that shiver, and those intent eyes narrowed as he drew close, and there was Fear. It was unmistakable, but to whom did that belong? That Fear of Loss?_

_There was no easy answer. There was only uncertainty. But one thing remained clear—that he should live._

xOxOx

Watching Kiera sleep, so soundly— her small breaths visible in little puffs in the cold night—I knew that I was a very lucky man. She had chosen to be here, to honor those words that singular dawn, three months ago—to 'even my odds with the crows'—to be here with _me_. I was Zevran Araini, a Crow who had been sent to assassinate her, and here she was, sleeping next to me in the cellar of an abandoned warehouse—trusting me with her life and more.

I took up one long coil of her golden hair, gently playing with it, braiding it slowly. She seemed so young, each time I saw her— but all innocence had been taken from her—her heart had been broken more than once, and as brave a front as she maintained, the hurt she buried went far deeper.

I had finished with the thin little braid, and I continued gazing at her, lightly-tanned skin luminescent in the light of the remaining candle. The glowing radiance made this girl perfect, in every sense of the word, her ferocity in battle a stark difference from her usual whimsical tendencies, her hesitancy, her determination culminating in facets few could comprehend.

I wanted this to be perfect; I wanted this rare gem that I had found, never to be burnished by another. Between the two of us, we had slaughtered half of the Crows—and lived to tell the tale. All there was left to do was to await the dawn, and then we would leave for Ferelden once more.

"_Tu sei una stella...la mia stella__.__ Ti Amo._"

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><p>P.S.: Thank you to everyone who has stayed with me thus far.<p>

I know that this isn't very satisfying an ending (especially if you were waiting _months_ for me to get my act together and finish this story...) but I felt that this was as good an end. What I realised (while on my unreasonably-long sabbatical) was that relationships are hard to put into real words- that they are thoughts, actions, little gestures that sometimes, no one sees or understands. There is much uncertainty, and there are always gaps that we cannot hope to fill so perfectly.

Perhaps what I've posted is enough. Perhaps it isn't. But most importantly, I only have my most heartfelt thanks to offer, and most sincere apologies for everything. Thanks for being awesome readers, and I'm sorry, if I offend.


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